


Teaghlach

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Series: Heather+Thistle [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Outlander Fusion, Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Outlander AU, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016), Rape/Non-con Elements, scottish au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-14 12:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 47,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16040066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: Scotland, 1738-39If anyone had told Major Jack Dalton, eight months ago, that he’d have quit the British Army and instead joined forces with a Highland Jacobite, he would have laughed at them. But that was before he met Angus MacGyver.





	1. Thread+Thistle

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here's the sequel to "The Sassenach"! Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to do it =, and especially my wonderful and talented beta, just_another_outcast!
> 
> I promise I didn’t steal the title idea from the already existing and awesome fic “Teaghlaigh” that’s already in the MacGyver fandom on here. It’s just that the Scottish and Irish words for family are very similar! (I was going to ask the author if it was okay that I use it, but it was an orphan_account story and I didn’t know who to message for that. So if you’re here reading this, I didn’t mean to almost copy you, and I hope that’s okay)

Jack Dalton had once thought he’d never seen a place as simultaneously beautiful and likely to kill him as the Scottish moors.

He’d had no reason to change his opinion of it, despite the fact that in the past eight months he’d gone from fighting off Jacobite ambushes as a British major to roaming the Highlands with a young Scottish outlaw.

Angus MacGyver was far more at home in this land than Jack could ever hope to be. He’d already crossed the marsh Jack was struggling to pick his way through, and was standing on the other side of it, looking increasingly bored with Jack’s pace and twisting a few stalks of heather into a braid in his fingers.

“Keep yer feet on the places the heather’s growin’. It’s less likely to be sinkin’ on ye.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Jack replied, rather snappishly. It really wasn’t totally Angus’s fault they were trying to lose a British regiment by taking this route, but Jack would rather have tried almost any other method of covering their tracks than wading through a smelly, treacherous marsh.

“You couldn’t have trapped them with another rockslide or something?”

“Tell me when ye see any cliffs or passes large enough, and I’ll be happy to oblige.” Angus’s sarcastic tone was very evident. “If ye’d rather go back and let them capture ye, be my guest.”

Jack’s foot slipped, and he was suddenly knee-deep in black slime. “Get back here and give me a hand, or so help me when I get over there I’m going to fling you in here.” Jack was already covered head to toe in the muck, but somehow Angus had made it through with no more than a few black smears on his legs and kilt.

The boy sighed, but began walking back across the slick tussocks to Jack. “Here, hold on, I’ll pull ye out.” Jack raised his hand, thinking about yanking Angus down with him for a second but thought better of it immediately. He’d rather be out of there and on his way to safety, than able to gloat and have both of them stuck in the mire.

Jack scrambled onto the solid footing. “Rebecca’s going to have my hide for this one. She’s not done complaining about having to replace my jacket buttons yet, and now I'm coming home looking like this.”

“If ye hadnae given me the buttons, we’d never have gotten away from Robbie and his men,” Angus argued, following Jack along the path he’d already made certain was passable.

Jack smiled. A few months ago, he’d have thought any man who claimed Jack Dalton would be friendly enough with a Highland Jacobite to argue with him as a joke was insane. But that was before he met Angus.

The boy was family now, just like his adopted daughter Rebecca, a former slave whose freedom Jack had purchased at the expense of the normal life he’d been planning. He’d never had cause to regret it. Rebecca had grown into a strong young woman, and was now happily married to William Bow, previously Fort Douglass’s blacksmith, now turned outlaw along with the rest of them.

He’d added Angus to that odd set of adoptees when Jack had become disgusted by the brutality with which his former commanding officer Colonel Murdoc had tortured the boy, when the man had captured the young Jacobite and brought him to Fort Douglass. Jack had done everything he could to help Angus escape, and when Murdoc began hunting for him, Jack had put aside his own plan to flee the country and taken Angus back to the Jacobites, nearly getting himself killed in the process. He’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if he had the choice. Jack would do anything, go anywhere, to protect his family.

That particular tendency had led to him following Angus on any and all of his idiotic schemes to make sure the kid didn’t set himself on fire, blow himself up, or get killed in any number of other awful ways by his own traps. The Highlander was incredibly skilled at turning everyday objects into traps, weapons, or needed supplies, but he was just as equally adept at getting himself into very dangerous situations. And the horrible part was that he rarely knew what he was going to do about said problem before it happened. He was infuriatingly good at making plans in the midst of a disaster, and they somehow always worked. Jack was absolutely convinced there must be a benevolent God, because the fact that Angus was still alive was nothing short of a Biblical-level miracle.

Jack had to admit, tricking the British regiment into riding in exactly the opposite direction of the Jacobite raiders by lighting a giant bonfire had seemed like a good idea at the time. Keeping the British and Robbie MacInerney’s bloodthirsty rebels apart was in everyone’s best interests. The problem with that plan had been that distracting the soldiers with their fire meant the regiment rode directly to said fire, and Angus being Angus had not gotten that far in his plan at the time.

Which had resulted in both of them running for their lives through this awful marsh. Jack sighed with relief when they finally reached firm footing. Not only was the mud sticky, it smelled like a basket of rotting vegetables.

Rebecca, waiting at the edge of the forest with the horses, shook her head at the two of them when they walked up. “What have you two been _doing_?”

“Keeping MacInerney’s men away from the patrols.” Robbie MacInerney and his Jacobite band used to be protected and supplied by Angus’s aunt, the fierce but good-hearted Moira Wallace, and Angus himself had ridden with them. Jack had more than once been on the wrong side of the boy’s work while he was hunting Jacobites with the army. However, when Moira found out how horribly the men were treating Angus, including threatening him and his friends if he refused to kill for them, she’d ordered MacInerney to leave her estate and never return. Now, without Moira’s enforced restraint, the Jacobites were wantonly attacking and aggravating the British forces.

“By acting like a couple of rowdy piglets?” Rebecca sounded like she was barely holding back laughter.

Jack shook his head. “I _tried_ to tell him losing them in the marshes was a bad idea.”

“They're nae still following us, so ye were wrong.” Angus swung onto his horse. “It’ll nae be too long before they find a way around, so we’d best be long gone by then.”

The trio turned their horses into the forest. Angus, being the most familiar with the route, rode in front, Jack and Rebecca following.  Rebecca pulled her horse to walk a bit forward of Jack’s.

“I think I might be sick from the smell before we get back to camp.” Jack wanted to argue with her, but she wasn’t wrong.

“Well, it’s not my fault, it’s Angus’s. If you’re going to be upset at anyone, it should be him. Maybe you should punish him by making him wash these clothes out himself,” Jack whispered.

“I’d agree, but the last time we did that, he tried to make them wash themselves with that strange wheel he stuck in the river, and it tore half the shirts because it spun too fast,” Rebecca whispered back, chuckling.

“I don’t care who has to wash them, as long as when we get back to camp, I can get a change of clothes and more than three hours’ sleep.” They'd already been on the road two weeks, trying to stay ahead of both the British and the Jacobites, and strangely, their constant travel felt more like home to Jack than Loch Ainslie. This was familiar, the constant movement. 

“You’re not hungry? Catriona said she’d be making fresh bannocks tonight,” Rebecca teased, knowing full well Jack could barely stomach the hard oatmeal cakes.

Catriona, Angus’s cousin, was dividing her time between the camp and the local village, talking with the farmers and craftsmen to glean any information she could about the Jacobites or the British troops. And Moira was busy negotiating with the nearest landowner, Laird MacKersie, for new mounts, in exchange for Will’s smithing skills for a few days.

Angus turned slightly. “At least ye won’t have to try and pretend ye can eat my cooking.”

Jack would be the first to claim he was no skilled cook, but living as a bachelor for years he’d done his share of preparing meals, when he wasn’t living in the forts. His cooking wasn’t elegant, but it was edible. Angus’s was not.

Jack had brought down a large deer the week before, and while he and Rebecca cleaned and butchered the carcass, and Catriona scouted the village for any news of Robbie’s men, Angus had tried to cook some of the meat. When Catriona came back to find Jack and Rebecca struggling to sort out the possibly edible bits from chunks of meat that were charred outside and still bloody inside, she’d broken down laughing. “What in the name of all holy did ye let Angus cook anything for?”

“There was a reason I made a kitchen spit that could turn itself,” Angus had muttered glumly, glaring at Catriona until she finally managed to stop laughing. “I’m nae good at this.” Jack hadn’t brought up the fact that the second Angus had put the meat over the fire he’d gotten distracted and started whittling something out of the deerhorn, only stopping when the meat had started to smoke and smell horrible.

Just thinking about the incident made Jack laugh. He shook his head and started kicking up his horse to ride beside Angus, fully planning on giving the boy more grief for the one thing in life he appeared to not be good at, when Angus threw out one arm, stopping Jack so abruptly he yanked the reins and his horse protested with an angry whinny.

“Wait!” Angus held up a hand. “Look.”

Jack knew better than to question anything about this. If this had been one of his old regiment, he would have dismissed it as nerves. They’d ridden through this area already, the day before, and they’d left MacInerney’s men well to the west, and the British regiment behind them. No one should have been here, other than possibly one of MacKersie’s tenants hunting the land.

But over the past few months, Jack had learned to trust Angus implicitly, no matter how outlandish the boy’s ideas were. Since the day he’d handed the boy his flintlock and watched him demolish half a mountain with the pieces of it, Jack had decided sometimes, it was best to just accept that Angus knew what he was doing. And also learned that often he didn’t really want to know what the boy was doing until after he’d done it.

Angus slid off his horse and walked a few paces forward, then leaned down, and finally, Jack noticed what the boy had seen minutes ago. A thin brown thread was stretched across the path, just below the height of the horses’ knees. Angus followed its track to the left, where it was tied tightly to the base of a tree.

A thistle was tucked into the knot. “Jacobite mark. Robbie always left one behind.” Angus stood up and walked the other way, following the string up the edge of the road and along the rise of the hill beside them. Then he stopped.

“Ye should see this.” Jack dismounted and followed him, nearly turning his ankle on the steep incline that Angus had climbed apparently effortlessly. Above him was a ridge of rock, washed free of the hillside but not yet collapsed into the road. The string ended where it was tied to a branch, which was wedged under a medium-sized stone. There was fresh dirt around the stone, clearly dug out from under it.

“The only thing holding up the side of this hill is that stick, am I right?” Jack asked. He glanced back down at Rebecca, who was holding the horses and watching them.

“Aye, so dinnae touch it unless ye’d like to be buried,” Angus said, and Jack sighed. _Why is he so much of an annoying younger sibling sometimes?_

“I _know_ that.” Jack glanced back down the hill, following the line of the string.“It looks like something you’d make, Angus. Do you think MacInerney and his men have taken to copying your tricks?”

Angus looked up at the strategically arranged stones. “We’ve been followin’ them for weeks, and they’ve nae come this far south. I suppose one o’ them couldae ridden off tae do it alone, but there was a reason they kept me with them, and not because they liked me. Those men would have collapsed the whole thing on themselves before they got this to work. And this is far more dangerous to use than the traps I used to make. I set these so the string trips before anyone reaches the rocks and they fall to block the road. This is designed tae fall _on_ anyone coming through. I never even made anything like this.”

Jack felt a cold pit in his stomach. If he knew one thing about Angus, it was that the boy didn’t want to kill anyone, not even someone on the other side of a war.

“Whose work is this?” Jack asked. “If you didn’t do this, who could have?” He didn’t like that, for once, Angus didn’t say a thing. _Either he genuinely doesn’t know, or he knows and doesn’t want to tell me. And I don’t know which is worse._

Angus carefully braced the stones, then removed the string so they could continue on the road. Jack saw him slip the string and the thistle into his _sporran_ , the small leather pouch he wore over his kilt.

“What did you find up there?” Rebecca asked when they rejoined her.

“A trap,” Jack replied, remounting his horse. “That whole row of rocks up there would have buried us if Angus hadn’t seen that string.”

Rebecca shuddered.

Angus continued. “I cannae tell who’s made it, either. Laird MacKersie would have nae reason tae make somethin’ so deadly. And the thistle makes it seem like Jacobite work, but Robbie’s men havenae been this way as far as we know, and I dinnae think any o’ them are capable of settin’ a trap like it.”

“So there’s someone new at work,” Jack muttered. _This just made our entire plan more difficult. It was hard enough when we were watching for Robbie and the British. Now we have a new enemy, one we can’t even begin to predict._

Rebecca looked grim. “If someone else is doing what you do, and building these to kill, we’ll need to be far more careful.”

They were silent all the way back to the camp. When Moira, returned from the MacKersie estate, met them, she took one look at Angus’s face and asked what had happened. When he told her about the trap, Jack noticed a moment of hunted surprise in her eyes, as if something about the whole thing was familiar to her. But it was gone in a moment and he wondered if he’d imagined it. _Maybe she was just afraid. Maybe she’s as concerned about someone who could be capable of matching Angus’s skills as I am._

Jack barely touched the food, and not just because the dry bannocks made up most of the meal. He didn’t like the feeling that they needed to watch their backs so closely. He’d always been annoyed and concerned by Angus’s traps when he was still an officer chasing down the Jacobites, and it had been a relief to finally be on the same side of the war as someone that skilled and dangerous. Now, it seemed they might be dealing with the same problem again.

Angus sat by the fire, twisting the string through his fingers, tying small, complicated knots in its length. Jack moved to sit next to him. _If I’m worried, I can’t imagine how he must feel._ Jack knew that Angus had only survived the war this long because of what he could do. His skills were the difference between life and death for him, and now for the people he called family. To have them turned against him, however inadvertently, must be painful. _He’s always been able to count on being able to outsmart anyone we come across. Now he can’t be certain of that anymore._

Angus looked up, the firelight casting flickering shadows on his face that made him look older than he was and highlighting the concerned frown creasing his forehead. “This is a thread from a tartan. The color’s not one that’s common to see in patterns.” He held up the brown wool, then laid it against his own plaid. “It’s faded, but nearly the same brown as one my clan uses. Only a handful of clans have this color. Even fewer are loyal to the Jacobite cause.”

“Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“Nae. My clan’s scattered across the Highlands now; there was bad blood between Conall and his brother over the inheritance, so it could be a distant cousin. Or a MacFie, or MacKinnon. But I cannae tell ye more than that.”

“It’s a place to begin.” Jack reached for Angus’s hand, weaving his fingers into the boy’s. Angus glanced down at the thistle resting on the grass in front of him, the leaves now wilted, the flower limp.

“I hope we never cross paths with this one again.”


	2. Home+Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moira/Matty POV

It was only two weeks later that Angus, Jack, Rebecca, Will, and Catriona returned to Loch Ainslie. Moira was already waiting for them; her duties as laird meant she was less free to join them in following the Jacobites and patrols. She’d come with them in the first weeks to make her yearly negotiations with other local lairds. 

Moira was a skilled tactician, and she knew the land, and Robbie MacInerney, well. Where Angus was able to invent cunning traps out of little more than twigs and stones, Moira was able to guess with remarkable accuracy any troop movements, based on the time of year, the lay of the land, and her knowledge of the people fighting this war. She’d always prided herself on her ability to guess people’s intentions.

Any other time Moira would have been delighted to hear the horses clattering into the yard. But she had another guest today, one she would far rather the others did not need to deal with. Nighean Kerr had returned from Fort William with news, and Moira had hoped the girl would be gone before Angus had to see her again. But apparently that was too much to ask.

_ This will be nothing short of terrible. _ Moira knew how badly Angus missed Nighean; he asked after her whenever Moira received a letter with news from the fort. Moira had never told him that Nighean, for the first few months, sent a separate sheet in the letters that was meant for Angus.  _ He needed to let go completely, and if she kept giving him false hope that she still cared, he never would.  _ Moira had known then that Nighean had never really cared for Angus, but she had found him useful to know. The only advantage for her in continuing a relationship was his skills. And Moira would have none of that. 

Except now she was back, in the flesh, and all those old wounds were going to be ripped open again.

Moira couldn’t bear to feel the girl’s icy presence beside her, standing on the steps and waiting for the riders. Nighean had always been like a spirit of winter, cool and demanding, lovely to see but painful to touch. Moira had disliked her from their first meeting, but it was unwise to alienate someone on the same side of this fight. So against her better judgment, she’d allowed Nighean to remain at Loch Ainslie while she worked to find a way to infiltrate Fort William. 

Angus had been living there as well, at the time. And he’d been too young, too naive, to realize what Nighean was. He’d assumed her interest in his skills was an interest in him, because so few people up to then had even appreciated what he could do. He’d spent hours with her, showing her the things he’d created, what he could do with so much as a brooch and some twigs and stones. 

And Nighean had let it happen, for which Moira would always hate her. She could have told Angus what she really wanted. He would have been hurt, likely, but at least he wouldn’t have harbored any misconceptions about her feelings. But she’d led him on cruelly. Moira had found them kissing in the stable one day, and she’d desperately wanted to say something then, to save Angus the pain that could only come from this. But he’d refused to listen to anything she said.  _ He thought I was just being a worried old woman, not wanting to see him growin’ up.  _

And then she’d found a place at Fort William, and without a backward glance, had left. Moira had found Angus in the barn later, heartbroken and crying.  _ It’s so unfair that so many people in his life have turned out to be cruel, that they’ve used him and abandoned him on their own whim. _ One of the reasons she hadn't yet turned that insufferable Jack Dalton out on his ear was that he seemed to genuinely care about Angus. And heaven knew the boy sorely needed it. 

Even more unfortunately, Nighean wasn’t the only problem on Moira’s mind. She’d said nothing to Angus when he and Rebecca and Jack found the trap on the road, even though it had given her a moment’s pause. There was no sense digging up old ghosts.

She’d seen work like that before, back when James MacGyver, Angus’s father, helped her win back Loch Ainslie. She guessed it was a trait that ran in the family. But Jamie was long gone, and there was little chance this could be him. Last she’d heard, he’d gotten into a drunken tavern brawl and killed a British officer, then fled to France to escape the law. 

She’d never told Angus even that much. After Jamie dumped him on Conall’s doorstep, the boy had been hurt and heartbroken, and seemed to want to forget his father ever existed. And from the little her sister had been willing to tell Moira about her husband, the man had had a vicious temper, even worse when he had been drinking. And the way Angus used to flinch from any touch, she was fairly certain Jamie had been prone to taking his anger and pain out on his own son. Angus didn’t need any reminders of that life.

She couldn’t imagine Jamie coming back to the country just to fight the British. The man had no concern for anything but his own life. Moira couldn’t imagine him attaching himself to a cause, not even the cause of his own homeland. 

Angus was worried enough about someone else using his tricks. There was no point in adding to that fear unless she had some firm proof. And there was none of that yet.

Moira straightened her back as she watched the riders enter the yard. There was no point in letting anyone see how conflicted she was.  _ There’s no time for that in war. _ She didn’t have the luxury of letting anyone see her uncertainty, letting anyone past the harsh, stony front she kept up.

Sometimes she knew Jack saw through it, and as much as it annoyed her, she was grateful for his understanding.  For all their bickering, they were two of the same bird, and Moira might not be willing to ever tell the former soldier to his face, but she found him a reliable support. They might argue, and there might be frustration and sometimes outright anger between them sometimes, but in the end, both of them only wanted to protect their family.

She wanted to say something, anything, to warn Angus, to make this less of a shock, but it was too late. The riders had come past the smithy and had a clear view of the steps. Moira watched the small smile disappear from Angus’s face as he looked up to greet her and saw the person beside her.

“Nighean?” Angus’s face paled, and he dropped his horse’s reins.

“Angus.” Nighean didn’t move to meet him. “It’s been a long time.”

Moira saw Catriona stiffen. She, like Moira, had known from the beginning that Nighean was trouble. Moira hoped that three years would have healed the wound and made Angus realize his mistake. But looking at him now, she didn’t see it. She saw a sort of conflicted hope in his eyes.  _ He’ll be making the same mistake all over again. Seeing the best in her, wanting to believe she’s the person he thinks she is. And she’ll only shatter him again. _

“Why did ye come back?” Angus asked, watching her warily, like a skittish horse that had seen a rope.

“I have news from Fort William that was best delivered in person.”

As much as Moira hated to admit it, Nighean was their best chance of outmaneuvering the British forces. And this time, her information was both concerning and important. 

“Ye’ll want tae hear what she has tae say.” Moira forced the words out, biting back the anger with which she wanted to say them.

Nighean continued, switching deliberately to Gaelic after looking at the  _ Sassenachs _ in the yard. She spoke some of the words with a strange accent; her voice stumbled over the native tongue after three years with the British.

“The British have been on edge since Davis’s death and the Jacobite outlaws’ bolder attacks. They’re nae content to wait for the war to come to them. A regiment has been dispatched from Fort William, with Colonel Murdoc in command, to hunt down the rebels and stop them by any means necessary.”

Moira saw Angus’s face pale. Murdoc, Jack’s vicious former superior, had brutally tortured the boy during the few days he’d help him captive. Angus’s back was still deeply scarred from the flogging the colonel had given him, and the resulting infection had nearly killed him. 

Nighean didn’t even seem to notice the pain in Angus’s eyes. There was no note of sympathy of kindness in her voice as she continued. “From the messages I’ve seen, it seems Murdoc volunteered for the assignment. He’s eager to hunt ye down and restore his reputation. Since yer escape, he’s been obsessed with findin’ ye.”

Angus shivered, almost unnoticeably but Moira had known him for too long to miss it.  _ He deserves better than being hunted by an obsessive madman.  _ But she knew Angus would never have traded the life he had for safety and comfort.  _ It doesna mean that I like what’s happening. But it is the risk we all take here, when we take a stand for what we believe is right. _

Angus shook off the concern and turned back to Nighean, pulling a knotted brown thread from his  _ sporran _ as he did so. 

Moira recognized it as the one he’d found at the stone trap.  _ It must be a mere coincidence that the brown matches the MacGyver tartan. Or maybe there were more in that family like James and Angus.  _

“Have ye heard anything about someone settin’ traps like mine? Ones that kill?”

“There were three soldiers killed in an explosion a few days ago. The survivors said they'd seen nothing more suspicious than a small cairn of stones.” Nighean glanced at him. “I thought it was yer doin’.”

“Nae.” Angus flinched slightly at what Nighean’s statement insinuated.  _ She doesnae know him at all. Nae really. _ “Whoever it is, one of their traps almost killed me and my friends.”

Nighean glanced at the others again, and her gaze settled on Jack.

“So the rumor is true. Ye left the Jacobites to side with the British deserter.” Moira didn’t like the bite in her words.

“Jack is a good man. He saved my life.” Finally, finally, Angus was noticing Nighean’s condescending coldness. “He could have left me a dozen times, and he never did.”  _ Unlike you.  _

Nighean shrugged. “They talk about him at Fort William. He was a dedicated soldier, before this. How can ye be certain he’s nae a spy?” Once, the same thought had been foremost in Moira’s mind. But after she’d found out everything he’d done for Angus, everything he’d sacrificed, she’d known the truth was exactly as Jack told it.  _ Of course, when he asked how I knew he wasnae a spy, I told him it was because he lacked the brains to fool me. _ Moira believed in not revealing the depth of her affection for anyone, barely even acknowledging it to herself.  _ Caring is a dangerous thing in a time of war. _

“Because he’s risked his life for me more times than I can count. He’s doin’ his best tae keep me alive. Nothing comes before that to him, not his country and not the uniform he used to wear.” The bitterness in Angus’s voice was barely covered. “Jack isn’t just my friend, he’s a brother, and he’s the nearest to a father I have now. If ye continue tae question his loyalty, I’m sure Moira will be happy tae tell ye what she told MacInerney.”

“I’m sorry.” Nighean seemed to have noticed the deep resentment as well. “I didnae mean to question yer friend’s allegiance, only tae remind ye it was possible.”

“We’d already considered it,” Moira said coldly, then looked out to the yard where Will, Rebecca, Catriona and Jack were standing in awkward silence, cut out of the conversation by the switch Nighean had made to Gaelic. “Ye all must be powerful hungry after that ride. Come in and sit down tae dinner.” She nodded reluctantly at Nighean. “The offer stands for ye as well.”

Mercifully, the girl shook her head. “I cannae stay. They’ll be suspicious if I’m gone longer than four days. I’d said I needed to visit an ill uncle, and they’re waiting on my return.” She put a hand on Angus’s shoulder as she walked down the steps. “It was good to see ye again, Angus. Maybe next time we meet, it will be under better circumstances. I’m sorry I have to leave so soon. I’ll write ye when I return to the fort.” And then she was gone, brushing past the others as if they didn’t exist, off to fetch her horse from the stable.

Moira couldn’t say she was surprised when Angus failed to join them to eat. Jack looked slightly stormy, Catriona was carving her meat with far more force than it deserved, and Rebecca and Will kept reaching for each others’ hands under the table.

Finally Moira excused herself. Jack made to get up and follow her, but she stopped him with a hand and a glare that was much less menacing than she’d intended. “He’s been like this before. I know how to manage him, believe me.”

She knew where he’d be, sitting up on the corner of the wall. When she found him, he was whittling a scrap of deerhorn with his knife. When her foot crunched on the stones, he jumped, and the knife sliced into his thumb. He wiped the blood on his plaid with a soft hiss of pain.

“ _ Mo creach, _ Moira, ye startled me.”

“I thought ye’d be here.” She sat down beside him and held out the bowl she’d filled from the table. Angus shook his head and pushed it aside, and Moira knew better than to insist. “What’s that?”

He handed her the half-finished carving of a bear, probably intended to be used as a knife handle. The creature’s face looked sad, and there was a deep gouge in the delicately carved fur over where its heart should have been. Moira sighed. “Angus, ye need to stop pinin’ after someone who’ll nae be returning the favor.”

He looked at her, pain shimmering in his eyes. “Ye needn’t tell me something I already ken. I’m nae pinin’ for her. I’m worried. She’s livin’ in the heart of the enemy, and if she makes a mistake, gives herself away, she’ll be killed.”

“She knows that full well.” Moira sighed.  _ Nighean never cared about anything but winning this war. She left behind anyone who cared about her, and assumed they felt the same way she did, that winning was worth any sacrifice that had to be made. _ “She’s always given her heart to the Scottish cause first. Everything else is second to her.”

“I kenned so.”

“Nae, ye didnae. Or ye wouldn’t have let her take your heart and then toss it away when it suited her.”

Angus continued to chip away at the horn and said nothing. Moira sat beside him quietly. Sometimes, that was all she could do.

  
  



	3. Rope+Straw

Angus could tell Moira was angry, from her stiff posture and tightly pressed lips, when she handed him the letter that arrived a week after Nighean returned to Fort William.  But this time she couldn’t lie to him and tell him Nighean hadn’t written anything for him. 

He’d put the pieces of the story together, and realized that all those times Nighean had sent them information, she’d also been sending letters for him. Moira had never told him. He’d been furious with her for lying to him, but she’d insisted it had been for his own good.  _ I dinnae need to be coddled. I can fight my own battles.  _

But what Nighean told them, in that letter, pushed Angus’s anger at Moira to the back of his mind. 

_ Colonel Murdoc suspects that Laird Wallace has been supporting the Jacobites. He’s planning to bring a full complement of soldiers and search Loch Ainslie for any proof.  _

The idea of the estate being under Murdoc’s thumb was disconcerting. The Wallace lands had always been one of the few places close to the border that the British avoided. Even after Robbie’s men were no longer welcome, and therefore no longer protecting Loch Ainslie, the reputation had kept the soldiers at bay.

Murdoc didn’t seem to be swayed by the estate’s reputation in the slightest. It was clear he was out for blood and willing to do whatever it took to get it. No one could be sure if he knew Loch Ainslie was no longer defeneded, or if he was just insane enough to mount an attack anyway. According to Jack it was the latter, and Angus had no reason not to trust Jack’s judgment, from the little he knew of the colonel.

Judging from Nighean’s letter they had only two days before Murdoc’s troops rode for Loch Ainslie. Two days to try to prepare.

Angus had done plenty of discussing with Jack, in the past months about the best way to secure the estate and make it more defensible, but those plans would take more time than they had. And trying to hold off an attack by a large contingent of British forces, with the authority and backing of the Crown, was suicidal. Even if they managed to keep Murdoc’s force at bay, he could call for reinforcements. The army had far more blood at their disposal than Loch Ainslie could spare. 

“Do you really think we stand a chance of holding off an attack?” Will asked, watching while Angus carried a handful of claymores and broadswords into the barn. “They’re trained British military, and these people...well, they’re farmers. I know you Scots are brave and determined, but I’ve seen what the army can do, and it’s ugly.”

“We’re not plannin’ tae start a fight.” Angus bundled the claymores into the cloth, then wrapped the whole thing in straw. “This needs to look like a peaceful estate with nae intention of actin’ against the Crown.” 

“Then why don’t we just take the weapons off the estate and hide them?”

“Because if things go wrong, we need to leave a way tae fight back.” Angus pulled the slack end of the rope, run over a beam at the top of the barn. Above him, in the small loft, Catriona pulled the bundle over and concealed it in the rest of the straw. To anyone looking, it would simply look like one of the many bundled bunches of straw ready to be tossed down into the stalls. 

The muskets had been concealed in the woodpile already, easy to retrieve if you knew the right logs to remove, but virtually impossible for anyone unfamiliar with the estate to notice. And all of the maps and letters that had been used to plot the Jacobites’ raids were buried behind the barn, with some of the manure shoveled over the area. Angus doubted the British officers would do much searching in that area. 

Catriona climbed down from the loft, wiping loose straw from her tartan dress. “If the British suspect that the Wallaces are a danger, they’ll burn this place tae the ground. If we can stop that, we need tae try.” 

Angus could see the concern in her eyes. Loch Ainslie was the only home Catriona had now. After her family had been driven from their lands by the British, and her father killed trying to defend their home, she and her mother had come here to seek refuge. Her mother had died in the first winter, of what the healer had been unable to judge more than a broken spirit. 

Catriona, on the other hand, had grown strong rather than faded away. She’d learned to wield the sword she’d taken off her father’s body, and she’d supported the Jacobite cause in any way she could. Angus had grown up hearing stories that locals told of a thief who attacked British supply caravans by night and cut horses loose from wagons, and set entire carts on fire. He’d only learned years later that it was his cousin.

When Angus came south with MacInerney’s Jacobite band, Catriona had tried to convince Robbie to take her with him and his men, even gone so far as to disguise herself as a man and ride with them a whole day unnoticed, but when Robbie found out he’d been furious and sent her home under guard. So she’d continued to make her raids alone.

Catriona’s fortunes had taken a turn for the worse when she’d been shot during one of those raids, nearly a year before Angus was captured. The healing had been slow, and for months she’d been weak and ill. It was during that time she’d written most of the letters Angus had had, the ones Jack had found. 

It was only when Jack had come and Angus had decided to continue the fight against the British on his terms that Catriona had come back to the battle. Her left leg still pained her after riding hard, and she still sometimes felt the changes in weather more strongly than the others, but she now had one more thing to add to the list of reasons she wanted the British forces gone. It seemed nearly dying was a powerful motivator.

Rebecca walked into the barn with a pail of lye. “I hope you’re grateful. My hands are peeling raw from making all this.”

Angus took the pail of lye and glanced at how much was inside. “We need to be prepared to fight back if they strike first. But I'd rather avoid that happening.” He nodded to Catriona. “Ye know what tae do with this, yes?”

“What ye did tae poor Granna McTavish on washday? The poor woman was nae right in the head after that.”

“She thought the fae were upon her, I’m nae to blame for her superstition,” Angus smiled. “And ye must admit, the look on her face was worth the spoiled clothes.”

“I dinnae think Moira thought so.”

They walked back to the house together, where Moira and Jack stood in the dining room, with a map of Loch Ainslie’s lands spread out in front of them.

“I know how the colonel thinks,” Jack said. “He’s a bulldog of a man when he’s got an idea in his head. If he thinks the Jacobites are here, he’ll tear this place apart looking for proof.”

“We’ve done what we can tae secure the place against it,” Angus said. “Without takin’ away a way tae defend yerselves if the colonel decides tae turn on ye. We still need to hide most of the horses, they’ll need tae be taken further away.”

Jack looked somber. “We’ll need to leave as well. He’ll recognize the four of us as soon as he sees us.” Angus nodded.

“Can’t we just stay somewhere in the house, or the barns?” Will asked. “Jack, you’re the only one here who knows that man. I’m sure you could help.”

“Believe me, leaving these people alone with that monster is the last thing I want to do, but it’s the only way to keep them safe,” Jack replied. “Trust me, I know his methods.”

Moira pointed to a spot on the map, a series of dark points marked in the backbone ridge of rock that marked the eastern border of the estate. “When Dougal tried to take over Loch Ainslie, my supporters and I had to flee. We spent a winter hiding in the caves at our border. They'll shelter ye until the colonel is gone.” 

“It’s close enough ye’ll be able tae get a message to us if need be,” Angus said.  _ I hate leavin’ Moira tae deal with that man, but Jack’s right. If Murdoc found us here he’d be merciless. The only chance they have is is we make ourselves scarce. _

“And I’ll nae be leavin’,” Catriona said, leaning against the wall. “Moira and I can deal with the colonel.” Angus had no doubt that if there were any two people in Scotland who could handle Murdoc’s ire, it would be his aunt and his cousin. But the man was vicious and unreasonable, almost the devil himself. Angus wasn’t sure anyone could do much if his vindictiveness overpowered his reason.

He and Will packed up everything from the forge that might indicate either one had been there. Angus didn’t know how much the colonel knew about his talents, but the man was well aware Angus had broken out of his cell in Fort Douglass with almost nothing. If he found any of the more complicated contraptions Angus was working on, he’d likely be able to guess whose handiwork it was. 

The closer they came to leaving, the more Angus tried to convince himself the only reason he was agreeing to that plan was Jack’s insistence that it would keep Moira and the others safer. _ The colonel doesn’t still frighten me. I took the worst he could deal out and survived. There’s nae reason to fear him. _

But try as he might, Angus couldn’t shake the feeling that the more miles he put between himself and that man, the better off he would be.  _ I’m not afraid of him. I’m not. _ But the thought of seeing the man’s cold, cruel smile, those soulless dark eyes again made him shudder.  _ When he leaves, when he finds nothing there to interest him, this will all be over.  _

Rain was falling steadily the next morning when Angus, Jack, Will and Rebecca mounted their horses in the courtyard. Angus blinked the water out of his eyes,  _ it’s only rainwater; I’m not crying, _ and tried very hard not to think about the last time the four of them were riding away from Murdoc’s pursuit, through yet another storm.  _ The rain will wash away any signs we were ever here. He won’t be able to follow us. We’ll be safe. We will.  _ He shivered.  _ It’s only the rain. I’m just cold, not afraid. _

“We’ll see you when this is over,” Jack called, digging his heels into his horse’s flanks. THe mare skittered on the wet cobblestone and then broke into a trot.

“Fare ye well,” Moira called after them. Angus watched her figure growing smaller and smaller as they rode away and felt the pit of dread growing in his stomach.  _ We’ve done all we can. But it may not have been enough. _


	4. Red Coat+Glove

It was a struggle to pretend that everything was as it should have been. To pretend they had no idea the devil incarnate was riding down on them. Moira paced the house with the air of a caged bear, and she was well aware her tension was setting everyone else on edge, but there was little she could do to ease it.

If she failed to convince Murdoc that Loch Ainslie was no threat, everyone she cared for, everyone she had sworn to protect, could be killed. Moira might have been a hard woman, but the one thing no one had ever questioned was her loyalty. The people of Loch Ainslie had followed her unquestioningly when she fought to retake the estate. They had believed in her leadership, they trusted her to be a good laird. She couldn’t let them down.

The house had never been cleaner. Every one of the servants seemed to be working as fast as possible in the hope that it would take their mind off the monster who was soon going to be in their midst. Catriona was weaving, or trying to, but her past several rows were far too tight and uneven, and she’d already snapped threads twice. The girl’s shoulders were stiff, and she was biting the corner of her lip so hard Moira was surprised there was no blood. After standing for several minutes and watching her slam the loom treadle as if it were Colonel Murdoc under Catriona’s foot, Moira spoke up.  _ If I dinna distract her, she’ll break the damn thing and Angus isn’t here tae repair it.  _

“Catriona, I’d like ye to come with me to inspect the mill.” The girl stood quickly, and Moira could see the relief and understanding in her eyes. There was nothing wrong with the mill, Angus had repaired it before he and the others left the estate, but staying inside this house was stifling Catriona and Moira alike. 

Their horses could sense the women’s restlessness and were more agitated than normal, tossing their heads, refusing the bit, and jumping at shadows. 

“I dinnae like a thing about this,” Catriona said softly. “Letting that man inside our borders is a risk, let alone inside our house, is dangerous. Do ye really think we can convince him to leave the estate in peace? I'm sure he's already decided our fate.”

“I'm as uncertain as ye are. But the one thing I am certain of is that if we try to fight back, we will all die.”

Moira wheeled her horse and looked east. The rain had disappeared, leaving in its wake a low fog that settled in the valleys. As she watched, the fog in one of those valleys seemed to be split by a dark wedge. At first, she suspected a trick of the wind, until she saw that a flock of birds wheeled into the air above the valley.

Suddenly a dark patch, specked with crimson, climbed into view on a hill approaching the estate. Moira kicked her horse to a canter. “They’re comin’.” It wasn’t purely necessary for her to reach the estate before the colonel, she wasn’t meant to be expecting him, but she would rather be the first to greet him and make sure his questions, and any anger, were directed at her and not one of the farmers or craftsmen.

When they returned, she left Catriona to deal with the horses and went inside to compose herself. This was hardly the first time Moira had been face to face with the British military forces that had overrun her country, and each time, no matter how fair and respectful the soldiers might be, she had harbored a deep, simmering rage at the people who felt it was their right, because they had power, to rule anyone they pleased. But this was the first time her anger had a personal basis. 

Before last year, Colonel Murdoc had been someone Moira had heard of, at a distance. A man whose cruelty put much of the rest of the army to shame, a man who made even the soldiers who had slaughtered her sister’s family look like angels. She had believed only about a tenth of what she heard. Surely no man could be so utterly soulless.  

But then the colonel had captured Angus, and Moira had given the boy up for lost. Suddenly everything everyone had said about the man seemed likely to be true, and worse. And then Angus had come back, with horrible scars left by the colonel’s cruelty, and in the company of a man who’d been under Murdoc’s command and could reliably inform Moira that what she’d heard had barely been the half of it.

Moira had never been much for superstition, but she was inclined to believe this man could actually be a devil walking the earth.

There were shouts in the yard and then a firm knock at the door. Moira opened it firmly, and glared up at the soldier who had knocked with such severity that he stepped back and nearly fell down the steps. 

“Laird Wallace?” The man said. “Colonel Murdoc has arrived with orders from Fort William to search your estate and detain any suspected Jacobite traitors. He requests your cooperation and assistance in capturing these outlaws.”

“Then he should ask for that himself,” Moira snapped.

A tall, slim man with a sharp face and black hair, and officer’s braid on his jacket, dismounted his horse and climbed the steps. “Oh, I intend to.” He smiled at her, a cold smile that never reached his eyes. “I’ve heard much about you, Laird Wallace, and it seems the stories of your temper and your pride are true. I was merely trying to see for myself.”

“Ye’ve seen.” Moira said, curtly. “Now that ye’ve insulted me, I suppose ye’ll be askin’ tae quarter your drunkard regiment in my home.”

“I would prefer that you cooperate willingly.” Murdoc stepped past her and reached up to brush the carved doorframe with one gloved finger. “If you choose to refuse, however, I have authority to order you to comply. So I will ask, politely, once.”

“Ye and yer men may enter. But yer men will remain inside the house unless they are under command. They will nae be allowed to harass my people. If I hear that so much as a loaf of bread has been stolen from one of their houses, or that one woman has been leered at, ye will find out how much of the rumors about me are true.” Moira knew it was more or less an empty threat. But she needed to maintain a position of strength and power, and from what she knew of the colonel, he was more likely to respect someone he felt to be a challenge. 

Murdoc walked into the hallway and turned, glancing around him. 

“It’s certainly a far cry from London finery, but my men have been traveling the moors for weeks. I’m sure they’ll appreciate a sturdy roof over their heads, no matter how...uncultured.”

Moira faced the man, forcing her face to remain impassive.  _ This is the monster who tortured Angus. And now he’s in my house. _

Mordoc glanced at Catriona, who had entered the hall as well and was standing near the door. He turned back to Moira. “I would like to speak with you in private.” 

“Come wi’ me.” Moira led him to a small room that she used to store records and official papers, and to meet with neighboring lairds. She pulled the door closed behind them.

Murdoc moved deliberately to place himself between her and the door, and she feigned ignorance of his intention and remained standing where she was, in easy reach of escape.

“What is it ye’d discuss with me?”

“The location of the Jacobite force you harbor. And their plans.” Murdoc tugged at the back of one glove. “I have reliable information that implicates you as their supporter, and this estate as their base.”

“Then I’m afraid yer information is wrong.” Moira kept her voice steady, not light, but controlled and confident. “I am no supporter of those lawless, murdering bastards.” Moira had learned early that the best way to skirt the truth was to tell what of it was acceptable to someone else.  And the truth was that she  _ did _ have no association now with Robbie and his men. The slight anger that slipped into her voice was genuine. Robbie MacInerney had cruelly mistreated Angus, even threatened and beaten him when the boy refused to help him murder General Davis in cold blood. And the rest of the men had only ever seen Angus as a tool to be used, and abused, until he was no longer useful to the cause.

The colonel looked unconvinced. “You’ll tell me what I want to know, Laird Wallace. Or I will stop showing restraint on account that you are a woman.”

“Ye may as well treat me like a man, Colonel, if that’s what ye intend. Contrary tae yer opinion, Highland women are every bit our men’s equal, if nae more.” Moira had endured enough in her life to break her twice over. 

Colonel Murdoc might be a devil, but Moira had faced her own hells already. She’d watched every one of her three children be stillborn, she’d watched her husband grow ill with consumption and waste away in front of her eyes, she’d seen his half-brother lay claim to the estate that had been her own father’s, and she’d rallied a band of supporters and fled into the hills in the face of fire and anger. She’d turned her supporters, farmers, carpenters, millers, and smiths, into a small but determined army, enlisted the help of other lairds who would support her, and dueled Dougal Wallace herself. Moira Wallace was many things. Weak was not one of them.

“I’ve told ye already, I have no dealings with the Jacobites.”

“Then why were they often traced to the borders of Wallace lands?”

“Because most British officers are cowards, frightened of legends and ghosts, and rumors about ambushes and outlaws. They never chased those men further than the border of Loch Ainslie, and so they couldna know that the rebels rode past. I’ve no more idea where they shelter than ye, colonel. If I did I would tell ye. Those men and their foolish actions endanger all of us.”

Murdoc shook his head, and then, fast as a striking snake, his hand pushed Moira away from the door. She turned the stumble into a controlled step, but he’d taken her off guard, and that was not something that Moira was used to. 

“I would suggest you stop lying to me. The truth will be...no less painful, I’m afraid, but it will certainly make your death come sooner. If I am forced to find ways to coerce it from you, you will wish you had chosen to tell me everything when you had the chance to merely hang.”

Moira faced him with a firm glare. She might no longer have such a secure position, in the room or the conversation, but she wouldn’t let it deter her. “It would be foolhardy for me tae break the laws of the land, Colonel.”

“It would be more foolish for you to lie to me, Laird Wallace.”

Murdoc swung his hand sharply, and Moira felt pain explode across her cheek. Her mouth was full of the sharp, salty tang of blood. 

“Everyone knows the Wallace clan openly supports the Stewarts, and their pretender Prince Charlie.” Murdoc growled. “And that your land is defended by Jacobite supporters.”

“My land is defended only by its tenants, Colonel.” Moira spat, tasting blood on her tongue. “Search the estate. Ye’ll find nae one of your Jacobite ghosts ye’re chasing.”  _ Thank God Robbie and his men were warned not to come back on pain of death.  _

“I think not. You’ll tell me where they’ve gone. And if they’re hidden anywhere on this estate, I will find them. And then I will make you watch while I kill them slowly, one by one. I’ll save the boy until last. I’d like to savor his screams.”

Moira straightened, ignoring the pain in her ribs. “You’ll nae find them.”

“Oh, if I don’t, Moira, you’ll wish I had.” He shrugged and flicked some of the blood off his glove. “It’s going to be a long night for you and me.”


	5. Cave+Nightmare

Jack was glad when the rain slackened into a soft mist only a few hours into the ride. The storm had signaled a change in temperature, and the air now carried a chilly bite. Jack was grateful for the woolen coat, that despite the water kept him fairly warm. Rebecca had the hood of her  _ earasaid _ , a belted tartan cloak that Catriona had made for her as a wedding gift, pulled over her head, but her curly hair was escaping it in messy waves. Angus and Will were riding close together, their horses’ coats steaming. 

The cool autumn wind swirled around them, smelling of rain and heather and damp leaves. Jack would have much preferred to spend the night near a fire at the estate, but the likely damp and drafty cave they were headed for would have to do. Whatever it took to keep Murdoc from tracking them down would be worth it.

Jack had seen the riders in the distance. He’d hoped the rain and fog had hid their own movements. And after all, Murdoc was expecting to find proof of the Jacobites on the estate, not find them riding almost directly toward him. 

As much as Angus was trying not to let it show, Jack could tell the thought of Murdoc had put him on edge. He was more lost in thought than usual, and when Jack tried to talk to him he startled every time. He was nervous and jumpy and seemed more spooked than his horse when a fox darted across their path. 

_ He has every right to be terrified of that man. _ Jack didn’t want to think about what the consequences would be if Murdoc got his hands on the boy again. He’d been cruel enough when Angus’s only crime had been assisting the Jacobites. Now, however inadvertently, Angus was responsible for General Davis’s death, and he’d escaped Murdoc’s custody. Jack knew only too well the colonel’s thirst for vengeance. 

It took over half a day to reach the location Matty had shown them on the map. The caves were little more than gaps in the stones making up the side of the ridge that marked the eastern border of the Wallace lands. The largest one was only barely big enough to hold ten people comfortably. Jack wondered how Moira and her people had managed. 

_ If she were here, I’d tell her I’m certain the only reason they all fit was that she takes up half the space of anyone else. _ Jack and Moira had an unspoken pact that he was allowed to make comments about her height, and she in turn was allowed to criticize his lack of awareness of Scottish culture. More accurately, Jack thought it might just be that she had decided she was simply going to ignore anything he said to her. She wasn’t particularly sensitive about her height, possibly because if anyone genuinely criticized her or belittled her, she could easily end them with her ever-present claymore. 

Jack had more than a grudging respect now for the laird of Loch Ainslie. The woman had proven that she was a tactical genius, and her skills in studying the land and predicting the Jacobite movements were invaluable. Jack considered her a good ally, and a good friend.

No matter how much he’d convinced himself leaving was the safest option for everyone, he hated the thought of Moira dealing with the colonel. If Murdoc had made up his mind that the Jacobites used Loch Ainslie as a base, he wouldn’t listen to a single argument she made. Moira was strong, and Jack didn’t doubt for a second that she was Murdoc’s equal for intelligence and boldness, but Murdoc had an army at his disposal, and Moira did not. And Moira had one other disadvantage in that match, she had a heart.  _ If he threatens her people, she’ll do anything to protect them.  _

Jack chose one of the smaller caves to make camp in. It was more defensible and less likely to be the favorite haunt of a wild animal large enough to do serious damage. He watched Angus set several traps along the path to the cave, some to alert them to anyone approaching, some to slow an unwanted attacker down. Jack’s personal favorite was the one that would swing a branch back to snap into someone’s face if the string was pulled. He still hadn’t forgotten the way Angus had knocked him off his horse when they’d first met. 

There were more traps there than were strictly necessary, but Jack said nothing about it. He’d learned quickly that working on his inventions helped Angus focus and kept his mind off anything worrying him. If need be, Jack would gladly allow his musket to be repurposed again if it kept Angus from having to think about his past. 

The clouds never cleared entirely, and darkness fell much sooner than normal, forcing them back inside the cave. They sat huddled together in the chilly darkness, since any fire could alert Murdoc to their location. The cold food from their packs was less than pleasant, and Jack still felt damp. He’d spread out his jacket to try and dry it, and Will and Angus had done the same with theirs. Rebecca’s cloak was laid out as well, and the smell of wet wool was permeating the cave. Very likely, it wouldn’t have faded at all by the time night came.

Jack could hear  _ things _ scuffling about in the rocks and scrub outside the cave. He hoped there was nothing bigger than him out there in the darkness. 

Angus had gathered several heaps of heather and moss from the rocks while building his traps, and he began arranging them into low piles, something they could lie on that would be more comfortable and warmer than the uneven stone floor. Jack couldn’t see much in the fading light, but he could tell Angus was working almost frantically. 

When Angus had finished, Rebecca sat down on her pile of moss and yawned. “I think I’ll be going to sleep.” She lay down, covering herself up with her blanket-like  _ earasaid _ in addition to the thin blanket she’d had tied to the saddle _ , _ and in a few minutes Jack heard her soft snores.  _ She was born to a life of wandering and travel.  _ Rebecca was as strong a woman as any Highland-born one. She’d come a long way from the timid, silent girl Jack had met in General Davis’s household.  _ She’s endured so much, and she still chooses a life of hardship and danger, because she believes it’s worth the cost, to help someone else fight for their freedom too. _ He couldn’t be prouder of her.

The moon slipped out from behind the clouds, silvering the stones and lighting up the flat moor below them. Jack put his coat back on and sat near the edge of the cave, near a wall to shelter from the strongest of the chill winds coming down from the north.  _ Weather’s shifting. There’ll likely be snow soon.  _ Jack hadn’t spent four years posted in the Highlands without learning a bit about the land and its rhythms. 

Will was still staring out into the dark as well, drawing scattered lines on the dirt with a fallen branch.

“What’s eating at you?” Jack asked.

“We left those people with Murdoc.” Will shuddered. “I hate to think what he’ll do to them.”

“Trust me, no one knows what he’s capable of better than I do,” Jack said, trying not to think of the burning houses they’d ridden away from, the blood and death and wanton slaughter. “Which is why the further we are from Loch Ainslie, the safer everyone there is.”

Will jabbed at the ground with the stick more forcefully, and the tip of the branch snapped off. “Or he’ll rain hell on them and we’ll come back to nothing but death and destruction.” The smith sighed. “You’re a soldier, Jack. You think of everything as tactical advantages and ways to minimize losses. You see battle plans and strategies. All I see is people. Frightened, unprotected people who can be hurt. To you, facing death is nothing. It’s an everyday piece of life. For them, this isn’t war. This is survival.” Will stood up, walked further into the cave, and lay down beside Rebecca.

Jack sighed, leaning back against the cave wall. He couldn’t deny there was some truth in Will’s words.  _ I see Moira, and Catriona, and I see people who’ve taken up arms for a cause. Soldiers like me. _ But he wasn’t always quick to realize that the majority of Loch Ainslie’s people were not like their laird. They were farmers, craftsmen, people whose greatest battles were fought against harsh winters, storms, droughts, and disease.  _ They’re strong, but they’re not soldiers.  _ Still, this was their war, for their future. Jack had no doubt they would fight for their land and their homes if need be.  _ I only hope it doesn’t come to that. _

He sat watching the moon for a long time, until the cold settled in his bones and his back and legs felt stiff. He stood, groaning, and lay down on the only pile of heather still open, next to Angus, who seemed to be already fast asleep. Jack had spent many a night sleeping in all weather, and the day had been exhausting.  Despite the cold and damp, he was asleep shortly after he laid down.

He woke up when a hand slapped him startlingly on the cheek. He was about to scold when he noticed Angus shifting restlessly, shaking, eyes open but clearly unseeing.  _ His nightmares haven’t been this bad in months. _ Jack remembered when he’d spent nearly every night in Angus’s room, more than ready to wake the boy the moment his dreams slipped back to Fort Douglass or that cliffside and Robbie. 

“I’ll tell ye nothin’,” Angus whispered between gasps. 

“Angus, laddie, wake up, you’re safe.” The boy only flinched and shuddered. His back arched, as if something had struck him, and he cringed, curling in on himself, clutching at the heather underneath him. Jack could see the muscles in his arms straining from the tight grip. “You’re safe, you’re with me. It’s only me.”

Angus cried out sharply and pulled away from his hands, whispering in muttered Gaelic under his breath. Jack sighed and moved closer. “I’m just trying to help. Wake up now, you’re all right.”

Something in his voice must have broken through the nightmare, because Angus blinked, and there was a sleepy awareness in his wide blue eyes. Jack could see that the boy was trembling constantly, whether from fear or pain or cold he couldn’t tell. 

“Jack?” He whispered sleepily, then seemed to notice the concerned look Jack was giving him. “What’s wrong? Did he find us? Do we have to leave?” Jack flinched at the fear in Angus’s voice.  _ I want to kill Murdoc myself for doing this to him.  _

“No. You were dreaming.” Jack didn’t want to say more. He’d learned quickly, during those first few months he spent with Angus, that the boy didn’t like being coddled. If Jack, or anyone, showed too much sympathy, he’d only shut them out. 

“I’ll be fine,” Angus whispered and quickly rolled over, but Jack could hear his rapid breaths and see him shaking.

Jack reached for Angus’s shoulders. “You’re with us. I’m going to keep you safe, I swear to you.” He pulled the boy close to him, feeling the ridged scars under his hands when he ran them gently down Angus’s back. The deep scars were much less noticeable now than they had been months ago, but they would never disappear completely.  

“I’m not going to let that monster near you again, Angus. I let it happen once, but it will never happen again.” Jack didn’t want to think about the kind of man he had been, to stand and watch Murdoc flog the boy half to death. Those scars were a constant reminder of when he’d failed Angus. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

Jack laid down again so his shoulder was brushing Angus’s. The boy sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at nothing. “I’m sorry I woke you.” His voice sounded suspiciously choked and wet.

Jack took off his own coat and draped it over Angus to give him a bit more warmth. He laid back, arms crossed, feeling the heather stalks poking through his thin shirt. “Try and get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.” Angus nodded and settled himself a bit deeper in the moss below him.

Jack lay awake long after Angus had begun to breathe softly and regularly. Part of it was the chill seeping through his thin blanket from the stone and dampness, part was the continued rustle and snuffle of creatures better left unknown, but the largest thing was the continued whirling of thoughts in his head. 

Jack had never been a man for self-recrimination. As a soldier, it would have been the death of him. Sometimes, in the heat of a battle, in a moment, you made decisions, and whether they were right or not they were done. There was no luxury of second-guessing your moves. Jack had always believed in setting those things aside and moving forward. He’d seen men who didn’t, and in the end it ruined them. Every one of them that Jack had known had taken to the bottle or taken their own life. Jack had decided early on that he was never going to be one of them.

But when it came to Angus, Jack’s carefully ordered system of avoiding irreparable regrets broke down. Jack would never, ever stop asking himself what he could have changed, what choices would have resulted in the boy beside him sleeping a bit better at night. 

_ What if I had returned to Fort Douglass two days earlier, instead of allowing the men a night to celebrate in the last town? What if I had insisted on handling Angus’s interrogation myself? What if I had earned his trust earlier, so he would have been able to ask me for help to escape? What if I’d challenged Murdoc’s actions? _

Jack  _ knew _ it would have been futile. Murdoc had been determined to have a scapegoat for the Jacobites he was unable to catch, and Angus had been the unfortunate victim. If Jack had tried to step in, to intervene in any way, he would likely have been threatened with a court-martial for questioning his superior. 

But oh God, he’d never forget the betrayed look on Angus’s face when Jack held him while Murdoc beat him. He’d never be able to see the boy and not think of the deep ridges that crossed his back, the pale tan scars lining his arms and chest. His dreams were still haunted by blood and tears and quiet, choked cries. He looked at Angus and half of him saw the strong, brave, intelligent young man Angus was, but some part of Jack would never be able to forget the beaten, bloodied, sick, starving boy from Fort Douglass.  _ I’ll never be able to make up for what I’ve done. But I keep trying. Trying to save him from any more pain. _

Jack flinched instinctively when he felt a hand on his chest. He went to push it aside, but the fingers wound around his and he relaxed when he recognized Angus’s calloused, scarred hand.

The boy would never have done so if he were awake, but sleeping, he was seeking out Jack’s warmth and solidity. One hand gripped Jack’s shirt, and Angus had rested his head against the older man’s shoulder. Every shaky breath brushed Jack’s ear. Angus looked so damn young, like a child frightened of the dark who’d come running to his parents for comfort and protection.  _ He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be fighting in a war, running for his life, living with nightmares of torture and cruelty. It’s not fair. _

Jack reached up and gently put an arm around Angus’s back, pulling the boy a little closer to keep him warm. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.” 


	6. Smoke+Saddle Blanket

When Jack woke up, he half-expected Angus to still be curled against him, worn out from the nightmares. Instead, the boy was already gone, and Jack sighed, pushing himself to his feet and stretching. The loss of the extra warmth the boy had been during the night was enough to convince him to get up. Jack would be the first to argue with anyone who said he was getting too old to be riding and camping all across the country, but the truth was that some of his old war wounds were less than fond of colder weather. His left shoulder was a constant ache, his knees felt stiff and useless, and his right ankle throbbed dully with his heartbeat.

_ Might as well get up and walk the stiffness out.  _ Rebecca and Will were still asleep. Will was snoring softly, and one of his hands was tangled in Rebecca’s wild hair, which was covering her entire face and stirring softly with each breath. Jack smiled. 

The sun hadn’t come up far enough to shine over the ridge, and outside the cave everything was still washed in a dim bluish twilight that was slowly fading to gold. Jack stopped for a moment to look out, searching for the dim black smudge he knew would be Loch Ainslie. If he was honest with himself he half expected to see smoke rising from it. 

_ God only knows what happened there last night.  _ Jack shook off the thoughts before they had a chance to settle and eat at him. There was nothing he could do about any of it. All he could do was what Moira had asked him to. Keep Angus safe.

He could see where the boy had gone, not far from the entrance to the cave. He hadn’t expected him to wander far, not when Angus seemed so skittish and worried about Murdoc, but Jack had learned never to take anything for granted when it came to the young Highlander.

Angus was whittling at a new piece of deerhorn, stopping every few minutes to curl his fingers to his mouth and blow on them. He had his plaid wrapped tightly around his shoulders, but Jack could see the faint, constant shivering.

“It’s a lovely view here. A bit chilly for me, though,” Jack said, and Angus looked up sharply, then relaxed instantly, recognizing Jack’s voice. Jack stifled a laugh at the way the boy’s messy blond hair tumbled over his eyes and was tangled with heather and moss. 

Angus moved to the side so there was enough space on the rock for both of them. Jack leaned as close as he could without making it impossible for Angus to move his arm. It was as much for himself as it was for the boy. The wind was cutting like fangs.  _ Snow’s coming for certain. _

They sat on the hillside while the sun came up over the ridge, giving some much welcomed warmth and light. Jack heard stirring from the cave and they were soon joined by Rebecca and Will, both of whom were eating cold bannocks. Rebecca’s hair was still a tangle, and when she sat down she began working at the knots with her fingers, whistling one of Catriona’s washing songs.

Even with the fear hanging over them, for a few minutes, it felt good to be here together. With no battle to fight, no one to chase. Jack only wished the rest of their small family were here too. 

There was a sharp smacking sound from somewhere below them, and then a litany of muffled Gaelic curses. All four of them leaped to their feet, and then Angus called down something in Gaelic. When he got an answer, he turned back to them, concern slipping across his face. “It’s Ghellis MacRae from Loch Ainslie. She says there’s something important she needs tae tell us.”

He started to scramble down the hill toward her. “Ghellis,  _ feitheamh.  _ There are more traps!” A muffled yelp told Jack the girl’s already found another one. 

A few minutes later, Angus returned with the small, dark-haired girl in tow. Her face was a picture of fear and confusion. “What’s wrong?”

The girl was panting, and one side of her face was an angry red, likely from the tree branch. “It’s Laird Wallace. The colonel doesnae believe her, and he’s planning to take her tomorrow to Fort William for questioning.” Jack felt fingers of ice down his back.  _ He’ll torture her mercilessly. _ And he knew Moira would die before she would break. “Catriona said ye would know how to help.”

“Is she safe?” Angus asked.

“I dinnae know. She disappeared last night and this morning she looked tired, and angry.” Angus shuddered and clenched his fists. “And he’s already killed Old MacKinnon and Colum Wallace.” She glanced at her shoes. “He told Moira he’d spare them if she gave up the location of the Jacobites. She spit in his face, and then he killed them in front of her.”

Angus shudders, and Jack sees the muscles clench in his jaw. “We’ll help ye, Ghellis.”

“I think you all are forgetting something important,” Jack said softly, hating to break into the others’ conversation but needing to make his point. “If we rescue Moira, it will be proof she has Jacobite support. She’ll be marked a wanted woman. If we free her, it won’t just be her who will have to run. Everyone on the estate will need to leave. When Murdoc finds out his prisoner is missing, he’ll do anything to get her back. Including kill the people she’s responsible for. I’m sorry, but this is the only way.”

“What about an ambush, on the road?” Rebecca asked. “It could be made to look like a random Jacobite attack.”

Angus sighed. “It’s tae much of a risk. At the first sign of trouble, Murdoc could shoot Moira, and if we failed, he’d have proof she was a Jacobite supporter and likely return and attack everyone at Loch Ainslie. The only way tae ensure she’s safe is tae take her tonight.”

Jack nodded. “If we wait, he could decide to kill everyone there before he leaves and torch the estate.” He didn’t add that he’d seen it done before. That he’d been one of the men riding through with torches.  _ Under orders, yes, but it doesn’t change the fact that I stood by while women and children were slaughtered, while we left places in ash and blood. _ “He likes a show of force. He’s already proved he’ll kill to get what he wants. He’ll likely ask her once more to give us up, and then have his soldiers set to work.”

Will looked pale, Rebecca’s hands were twisted tightly in her cloak, and Angus shuddered.  _ I want to forget this was part of my past. But at the very least I can keep it from happening again. _

Ghellis nodded, her face stony. “We’ll be ready tae leave with ye.” She couldn’t have been more than fourteen, but her determination and courage were very visible.  _ She’s about to leave the only home she knows, without even an argument. For as much as Moira’s devoted to her people, they’re just as dedicated to her.  _

“Ride ahead, let everyone know, discreetly, what’s coming.” Jack was certain the girl was up to the challenge. He turned back to Angus. “I hope you have a plan for this.”

“I will.”  _ Well, that’s reassuring. _

Jack still wasn’t sure exactly what Angus’s plan was when they approached the estate under the cover of darkness, fog, and yet more rain.  _ It’s not that I don’t appreciate the extra cover but I wish this infernal country could pick better times to be inhospitable. _ He blinked the water out of his eyes and after they left their horses with Will, he, Angus, and Rebecca climbed over the wall. There was a low spot that had a heap of stones near it that were easy to arrange into makeshift steps. It struck Jack as slightly suspicious.

“Don’t you think this is a little too easy?”

“ _ I  _ put them there years ago, Jack. I used to sneak out of the house at night and I needed tae be able to get back in unseen.”  _ Right. I forgot you spent some of your childhood around here.  _ Jack rarely ever thought of what Angus’s childhood must have been like. He knew, from vague things the boy had said, and from things he’d heard from Moira and Catriona, that Angus’s mother had died, his father had left him with his grandfather, and he’d spent most of his life growing up on the old family estate. But his grandfather had occasionally visited Moira, being that she was Angus’s aunt, and the boy had likely spent a good amount of time around Loch Ainslie.

Two officers walked past, and Jack pulled the other two behind a corner of the house. He recognized the men, two of the lower ranking officers. Good soldiers but not the most cunning. At least something about this night was in their favor. 

It might be the only thing. Jack could hear shouting and laughter inside the house. It sounded like the entire regiment was in there. And Murdoc would be keeping Moira close, somewhere inside there. 

Something swished behind them and Jack flinched, turning.  _ If we’ve been found it’s all over. _

“It’s only me.” Catriona materialized from the darkness, her cloak hiding her almost entirely. “Ghellis told me tae expect ye tae come over the wall. And we’ve gotten all the tenants gathered at the grove where ye said tae meet afterward.” She glanced at them. “She also said ye had a plan. Which I dinnae believe for a moment.”

“I will when ye tell me where Moira is.”

“He’s keeping her in the cellars.” 

“Which we can only get to from inside the house, which is crawling with British soldiers.”

Catriona nods “But I think there may be a way tae distract them.” She smiles, and there’s a roguish glint in her eyes. “If we start a wee brawl.”

Jack smiles. “Now you’re speaking my language, lassie.”

Catriona glances at him. “Shouldnae be too difficult; they’ve been drinking like that the whole night.” Catriona shook rain from her hair. “They seemed more than willing tae drink when I was the one making sure they were served.” There was a flat anger in her eyes. 

“Have they hurt ye?” Angus asked, and Jack could hear the pained concern in his voice. 

“Nae. The colonel was busy interrogating Moira, and the officer who wanted tae take me tae his room was more than willing tae have a small whiskey beforehand. He didnae know what I put in it, but he woke up with a ragin’ headache and he’s been sick in the privy all day.” But her hands were shaking. 

_ She’s a fortunate woman. _ Jack knew the odds of her making it through another night unmolested were slim, especially with all the men this drunk. 

“If we want them all out of the house, I think I have a much better plan than starting a fight,” Angus said quickly. “One that’s less likely to get anyone hurt.” He glanced up at the roof. “Rebecca, I’ll need dry straw. Quite a bit of it.”

As soon as the patrol passed again, Rebecca hurried to the barn. She returned lugging two sheaves of straw. “Will this be enough?”

“Perfect. Jack, I’ll need ye to toss them tae me once I’m on the roof.”

“Are you planning to set the house on fire? Because I think that might make a rescue a little hard.”

“Nae, but that’s what I mean them tae think’s happening. It’ll nae hurt them. Just give them a wee fright.”

Angus began climbing the rough stone chimney. Jack could tell the boy was nervous.  _ From what he said about Robbie and that cliff, I’m fairly certain he’s afraid of heights. _ Once he’d made it to the roof, he lay flat on the top of it for a few moments, waiting for the patrol to pass again, and then glanced down at Jack. 

Jack tossed the two bunches of straw up to Angus, who caught them and then began pulling handfuls out of one and stuffing them into the chimney. Jack saw a brief spark as flint and steel struck, and then a faint glow. Angus shoved more straw above the burning bunches and then moved to the chimney at the other end of the house. 

He slipped once on the damp slates and Jack watched him slide down, grasping frantically at the stone to slow himself. Jack wanted to rush up there after him and grab him and pull him to safety, but he hadn’t the slightest idea how Angus got up there. He had to watch, barely able to breathe, while the boy caught himself, lay panting and still on the roof for what felt like forever, and then began moving again.

Finally, Angus climbed down, just as the doors were shoved open and several men burst out, coughing and cursing. They crouched in the shadows and watched while the men began forming a line to the well, dragging up buckets of water to throw on the nonexistent threat.

Jack leaned toward Angus. “How did you know exactly how to do that?”

“I couldnae abide a guest who was here once, and I thought I might scare him off if he thought the house was prone to catchin’ fire.”

“How old were you?”

“Maybe twelve?” Angus grinned. “When Conall caught me, he was mortal angry. But Moira couldnae stop laughin’, and she said she was grateful since she couldnae stand the man any more than I could.”

Jack smiled at the thought of a young Angus scrambling around on Loch Ainslie’s roofs, creating an elaborate plan to get rid of an unwanted guest.

“We should go. Now.” Catriona tugged Jack’s arm. “Those four who just came out were the guards from the cellar.”

“Ye go find her. I’ll make sure we’re nae followed when we escape,” Angus said, hurrying toward the barn. Jack nodded, and followed Catriona around the back of the house, where she shoved out a window and pulled him inside.

The air was full of smoke, and Jack held the edge of his jacket over his mouth and nose as they hurried down the cellar stairs. Catriona pulled out a key and unlocked the door. Jack glanced inside, coughing. “Moira, are you here?”

“Dalton?” Moira’s voice was a welcome sound. “What in the name of all holy are ye doing here?”

“Getting you out,” Jack said. Moira stepped forward, and Jack bit back a curse at the damage he could see. Her hair was matted with blood, one arm hung at an awkward angle, and her lower lip was caked with dried blood. Moira’s cheek was bruised, the left side of her face a painful pattern of purple and blue, but she smiled at them. 

“Ye  _ amadan _ and yer foolish bravery.”

“We couldn’t just leave you to be taken.”

“How touching, Jack.” Moira shook her head. “I hope you two have a plan for what happens after this escape?”

“Angus is workin’ on that.” Jack nodded to Moira. “We have to go. Can you walk?”

“Yes. I’m bruised, Dalton, not smashed to splinters.” But her walk looked like a painful struggle. Nevertheless, she made it up the stairs and the three of them managed to climb out of the window just as Jack heard boots clunking through the house.

“I sure hope Angus really does have a plan,” Jack muttered as he rejoined Rebecca, who was watching the men continue to fling water on the fire and Murdoc paced around them, shouting and cursing. “Because I think Murdoc just realized his men got tricked.” Most of the bucket brigade suddenly disbanded.  _ They’re about to begin a search.  _

“Jack!” He jumped, but it was only Angus, behind them. “We need tae go.” He spared a moment to glance at Moira. “Good tae see ye again.”

“Likewise.” They began climbing the random assortment of wood, crates, and stone piled at the base of the wall, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the other side. He pulled Moira up behind him on his horse, and Catriona climbed up behind Angus, and they rode away into the mist.

They halted once they’d put a strip of trees between them and the estate. Angus climbed down from his horse and began searching the ground. “Moira, do ye think yer arm’s broken?”

“Aye. I ken it is, he stepped on it.” The calm tone with which she said that made Jack flinch.  _ What hell has this woman lived that she’s able to talk about torture so easily? _

Angus tore two narrow strips of cloth from his plaid and picked up a narrow stick from the ground. “This should brace it until I can make ye a more proper one.” Moira gritted her teeth as Jack helped pull the bone straight and Angus tied the branch against it. 

“We ought tae be leaving before they catch up, aye?” Catriona said. 

“They'll nae be comin’ after us for some time,” Angus said, smiling. 

“What have you done now?” Jack asked.

“Slipped some thistles into their saddle blankets.” Angus swung back onto his horse and kicked the mare into a trot.

“Angus, where are we going?” Rebecca asked. “We can’t possibly hide everyone from the estate in the caves, and Murdoc will probably find them anyway.”

“We don’t have to.” Angus’s smile looked sad, somehow. “We’re going home.”


	7. Phoenix+Snow

Rebecca was saddle-sore, exhausted, and cold. They’d been riding north for the past week, pace slow enough to accomodate the families, whose cart horses were struggling to cross the moors. They’d avoided any roads for quite some time in case of pursuit.

Angus’s plan was to take everyone to his own family’s estate, far in the Highlands. It had been the one place they’d be sure of a welcome, and it was too deep in the Highlands for Murdoc to pursue them without issue. “He’ll nae be able to come this far north,” Angus had told Jack. “He risks angering too many peaceful clans if he travels through their land.”

Snow had been falling for three days, faint and wet and melting off the ground and into clothes as soon as it fell. Rebecca hadn’t been dry since it began, not even when she huddled as close to a fire as she could in the evenings. She knew the others were the same. Will had barely acknowledged that she was riding beside him, and Jack was moving stiff and slow, his old war wounds giving him trouble.

Moira was bearing up apparently well, but Rebecca could see the set of her jaw every time her arm was jostled, and she knew the woman well enough to see the pain in her eyes that had nothing to do with her damaged body. Her estate had once again been forced from her, her people were on the run, and she was powerless to help them. Rebecca had watched the woman give away her cloak to a mother with a sick child, and her food to a family of six who’d barely had time to pack anything before they were forced to leave. 

_ She’s endured so much and yet she stays strong. _ Rebecca found herself admiring the woman more than ever.  _ She and I have more in common than I ever expected. _

She nudged her horse to a trot, coming up next to Moira, who was riding in front of Angus. With her damaged arm, she couldn’t manage a horse of her own, and it was warmer for her to be on horseback than in a wagon. 

“I’m sorry for the trouble we’ve brought,” Rebecca said slowly. “If we had left when you asked us to, you wouldn’t have had to flee.”

“Nae. If ye’d left I’d be in Fort Douglass in chains, or swinging from the end of a rope,” Moira said, her scolding tone belied by the kindness and affection in her eyes. “My fate was sealed the moment I let Robbie and his men into my house. The colonel would have come for me, sooner or later, and ye wouldnae have been there tae help.”

“I’m still sorry,” Rebecca said. “I know it’s not easy to have to leave everything you know and love behind.”

“And yet ye’ve done so.” Moira said softly, turning to look back at Jack’s stooped figure, then glancing at Angus. “Ye threw away everything ye knew, for the love of the people ye call yer family. And so has yer husband. Our land and our homes are not what hold our hearts, and I ken ye already know that. As long as my family is with me, my home is wherever they are.”

Rebecca nodded, then moved her horse back toward Will’s. He glanced up as she fell into line beside him. 

“What were you talking with Moira about?”

“Family.” Rebecca bent her head as a stronger gust of wind whipped across the moor. She could see something along the path beside them, small cairns of stone at odd distances, marking out a road that wound into low hills.  _ We must be approaching an estate or town. And not a moment too soon. _ Beyond the soft grey of the clouds overhead, a nearly black line was approaching.

Rebecca had seen many a Scotland storm, and this, she already knew, would be a brutal one. She could feel the cold in her bones, and she knew Jack’s old wounds must be aching terribly. Back at the fort, when these storms were coming on, she’d build up the fires and lay bricks against them to tuck into beds, and heat rags to wrap around Jack’s shoulder if the pain became unbearable. She’d been doing so since she was a child and saw him struggling to carry pails of water or even dishes from the cupboard. He’d been so kind to her, and she’d been more than willing to do the same for him. 

Will leaned toward her. “The horses aren’t shod for deep snow. The ice will settle in their shoes and they’ll fall.”  _ He’s a good farrier, I trust his judgment.  _

She rode up to where Jack was. “Will says if the storm hits the horses aren’t fit to travel in it.” She didn’t know what it would mean for them.  _ Will we be forced to wait out half the winter in some town, until the roads are passable again? Will we be able to risk that? What if the people we try to shelter with support the Crown? _

Snowflakes whirled down, turning the land white and freezing to Rebecca’s hair and eyelashes. The wind cut through her cloak and she shivered, leaning down over her horse’s neck. 

_ If this keeps up, we’ll lose the road.  _ She would rather not die out here in the middle of the Highlands, buried in the snow.  _ I’m not even being overdramatic. _ She’d heard the stories of soldiers separated from their regiments in storms like this, who wandered lost until they froze, and weren’t found until spring. 

“We need to make camp!” Jack shouted over the roar of the wind.

“If we do we’ll die before dawn!” Angus called back. “We’re nearly there!”  _ I hope he’s right. _ Rebecca could barely feel her fingers, and she let the reins fall to the horse’s neck to bring her hands to her mouth and blow on them. Her toes had gone numb a long time ago. 

She looked back at the straggling line of people and carts behind them.  _ What hell have we asked them all to follow us into? What have we done to them? _

Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm. She flinched, then realized it was Will. “Look, Rebecca, look!” He was nearly shouting. 

A wall loomed up out of the snow, cold and grey and forbidding. Beyond it Rebecca could just see the lines of a roof. She sagged in the saddle, finally allowing herself to feel the cold and exhaustion. 

Rebecca blinked at the carved crest over the gate. It was half-hidden by the snow, but it looked like a bird in flight. Like the phoenix on Angus’s brooch. They’d made it.

Angus climbed off his horse and pulled an old-looking key from his  _ sporran. _ The gate lock opened with a creak and the door swung wide. Angus remounted and rode throuhg first. By the time Rebecca got through, he’d already dismounted again and was knocking at the door of the massive house. Rebecca smiled at the sight of smoke rolling up from a chimney, tasting blood as her lips cracked from the cold. 

The door creaked open, and an old man hobbled out into the snow, looking up at the newcomers with bright blue eyes that Rebecca thought looked strangely familiar. Then he pulled Angus into what appeared to be a nearly bone-crushing embrace.

“Angus, laddie, _ thàinig thu dhachaigh _ .” His voice was muffled by his face being pressed into the taller young man’s snow-covered plaid, but Rebecca could still hear the choked emotion. “Ye’ve come home.”

“Aye.” Angus had his arms around the man, and Rebecca felt another smile draw even more blood from her chapped lips.  _ This is his real family. His own flesh and blood. _ She wondered how long it had been since these two had seen each other. 

She tried to push away the thoughts of her own parents, whom she’d left behind on the Haitian docks. God knew where they were now. If they were even alive. If her brother and sister had survived. If the child her mother’d been carrying had been born alive.  _ I’ll never be able to find them again. No one keeps note of slaves.  _

She shook off the painful thoughts like the snowflakes settling on her skin. Angus turned back to the others, smiling as widely and joyfully as Rebecca had ever seen him. 

“Jack, this is Laird Conall MacGyver.” Angus smiled. “My grandfather.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jack said, slipping off his horse.

Conall turned quickly back to Angus and began talking rapidly in Gaelic. Rebecca couldn’t hear much, be she caught the word  _ sassenachs _ . Jack’s accent must have disturbed the man. She couldn’t fault him.  _ If I was in his place, with the only family I had left gone off to war against people like Jack, I’d be worried too.  _

Angus was talking rapidly, probably trying to explain what was happening.  _ Just like with Moira, only this time there’s even more to tell. _ She knew when Angus got to the part about his capture, because the old man’s face went crimson and he roared several Gaelic words that Rebecca knew were curses because she’d hear Moira yell them at Jack when he did something particularly idiotic. 

Angus took the man’s shoulders and tried to calm him, and it seemed he’d succeeded. Conall listened fairly calmly to the rest of his story, and then looked at the people in the yard. 

“Ye all must be nigh frozen. Come in, ye are welcome.” He gave Jack a stern glance when the former soldier walked past him, but he didn’t seem angry. He seemed curious.

Once inside, Rebecca removed her stiff, frozen  _ earasaid _ and followed a group of the Loch Ainslie tenants into a large room where a fire was burning. Will and Angus were adding more logs, and most of the mothers were crowded around, holding thier children close to the warmth. 

Rebecca sat down and took one of the babies from a woman whose hands were shaking so badly she looked like she might drop the child at any time. She rocked the baby gently back and forth, holding her hand over his face to feel his breath. When she felt the soft rush of air against her icy fingers, she relaxed. He’d been carefully bundled up in a heavy wool blanket. He’d likely be fine. 

She sat quietly rocking the baby and singing softly, one of the Gaelic lullabies she’d learned from Catriona. 

_ “An cluinn, an cluinn, an cluinn thu Iain? Tha chuthag 's a' choill 's an oidhche tighinn, o tha.” _

“Do you hear, do you hear, the bird’s in the wood and night is falling.”

The baby reached out one hand and gripped a strand of her ice-caked hair, and she smiled down at him. “We’re safe now. We are. The long journey’s over. No more cold, no more wind.” 

She looked up when she felt someone’s grip on her shoulder. It was Conall, and his weather-beaten face was creased with a smile whose lines extended to his eyes. She could see from the creases and wrinkles that this was a man who’d endured much, lost much, but loved much. A man who smiled for every time he frowned or cried.  _ I see where Angus gets it from. _

“Ye seem tae be a kind lass with the young ones.”

“I had two younger siblings myself, a long time ago. I rocked them to sleep when they were sad or frightened or ill.” She hadn’t thought much about them the past few years, but something about this place, these people, was drawing back the memories.

“Ye have my sympathy for whatever fate or chance took them from ye.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca handed the baby back to his mother and stood to face Conall. “I suppose I care for the others here because I have no one of my own blood.” She looked across the room at the tired, cold, hungry faces. “My family is the people I’ve found along my road.”

“It’s a bonnie road that led ye tae my family,” Conall said softly. “Angus tells me ye saved his life. I'm deeply grateful and indebted to ye.”

“You've more than repaid it by letting me and my husband and father stay here.”

Conall took Rebecca's hand. His grip was strong, despite his years, and she could feel the calluses and scars like the ones Angus had. 

“Ye’ve brought my boy home tae me once more. When he left with the Jacobites, I feared I’d nae set eyes on him again in this life.” He glanced at Angus, who was carrying in another armload of wood with Will and Jack and some of the other Loch Ainslie men. 

“He’s like a brother to me.” Rebecca said softly. “I’m truly sorry for all that’s happened to him.”

“It cannae be changed now. The scars are nae matter. The laddie’s home alive and well and for that we’ll be thankin’ God and ye  _ sassenachs. _ ” He smiled. “Ye look like ye could use a bit of a warmin’. Come back tae the kitchen and Old Molly will fix ye something to take off the chill.” Rebecca followed him, listening to the tap-clunk of the cane he carried and feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire.  _ I lost so much on that dock so long ago. But there’s been much good to come of it as well. _


	8. Forge+Chimney

Will had been expecting the MacGyver estate to be similar to Loch Ainslie. In some ways, Castle Tilgeil-Teine, which Will had learned meant Fire-bird, was similar, but there were marked differences. 

The estate’s tenants mostly spoke only Scotch Gaelic. Will assumed that the further they were from the English border, the less important English was for the local people to learn. And likely, not speaking the language of those who were attempting to conquer them was a form of rebellion as well. 

Will had a difficult time understanding anyone but Conall, Old Molly the head cook, and Fergus, a carpenter who’d been born near the border. Angus went with him if he needed to talk with anyone else. Will noticed for the first time how much easier it seemed to be for Angus to speak to someone in Gaelic. His conversations were rapid, almost sounding like nothing more than gibberish. Will had never thought the young Highlander spoke poor English, aside from the heavy brogue that made some of his words nearly impossible to understand, but he realized it couldn’t be easy for him to use it constantly, not when he’d grown up surrounded by Gaelic speakers. 

_ Likely he only speaks English so well because Conall does. _ It was probably a necessity for the laird, and any future potential heir to that title, to be able to speak both languages. 

Will hadn’t really thought a great deal about what it meant that Angus was Conall’s grandson. When he’d told them they were going to his grandfather’s estate, the only thing Will had thought was that at least they would be certain of support and protection. But now that they were actually here, walking the yard and the tenants’ village with Angus, he could see the way the people here talked to him, treated him. He was their future laird, in all likelihood, and as such, they highly respected him. 

It wasn’t that Angus wasn’t still his usual kind, humble, helpful self; Will had watched him repair a well windlass, a leaking roof, and a crumbling chimney in the past two days, but there was something different about him here.

Ever since Will had known Angus, there had been a sense of huntedness in the boy. Will worked with prey animals for a living. He knew that no matter how long a horse had spent in safety, it would always fear sudden movement, loud noises, or things it couldn’t see. Angus had been the same way. Brave, yes, but skittish, even if the all the signs Will noticed were no more than widened eyes or a slight shiver of the shoulders. But here, that constant, hunted fear was gone. Angus walked with straighter shoulders, and his smiles were larger and more genuine. Will hadn’t even realized how trapped and worried Angus must have felt until he didn’t see any of it any longer.  _ This is his home, and here, he knows he’s safe. _

Will, on the other hand, was feeling more of an outsider than ever. He was hoping he might be able to settle in if he could go back to what  _ he  _ knew, his blacksmithing. There was a forge on the estate, and it was in fairly decent repair, although Will could see from the repairs he’d noticed around the estate that the man working it was not a smith by trade. His repairs were serviceable, but crude.

He wanted to offer to work the forge, but he was slightly concerned as to how Conall would take such a request.  _ He may think I’m pushing myself where I don’t belong, trying to act like I’m better than his own people. _ Will didn’t think the kindly man, who Rebecca had said had been nothing but kind to her, and who’d welcomed all of them into his family, would be so harsh, but he could never be certain. The Highlanders were proud people, and Will would rather not offend their host. 

When he asked Angus about it, Will was surprised when he started to laugh. “I told him ye were a smith when we came, but he’s nae asked ye for yer help yet because he’s a stubborn fellow who’ll nae want to admit he needs someone’s help.”  _ I suppose that trait runs in the family. _ “But if ye offer tae help, and tell him ye want tae be useful, I’m sure he’ll find that acceptable.”

Will brought the topic up, hesitantly, at the next meal. He’d decided on a plan; he told Conall he’d like the use of the forge for a few hours to repair the shoes on some of the Loch Ainslie horses. “I’ve cared for them for months, they know me well, and better a familiar hand on them than someone they may not trust.”

Conall’s smile told Will the old man knew there was more to this. “I’m certain Alastair would be more than willin’ tae turn the place over to ye once and for all. He’s complained about the heat and smoke since he took it over.”

After they ate, Conall walked with Will to the small building set well away from the others. Forges, and the potential fire danger of them, were one of the greater hazards to be found on an estate. Will had never thought himself a particularly brave man, but when he told children he worked as a smith, they were always awed. Almost everyone had heard stories of a forge that exploded or burned down, or men who’d been injured by their own tools and hot metal and flame. 

“There’s nae been a real smith here since Angus left.” Conall clapped Will’s shoulder. “It’ll be a wonderful thing tae have ye.”

The inside of the building looked like Loch Ainslie’s smithy, but even more unusual. Will was at least familiar with most of the strange equipment Angus had created. His personal favorite was the one that allowed him to pump the bellows with a foot treadle and very little effort, leaving his hands free to work with whatever he was making. 

Conall left Will to his work, and he soon found himself settling back into the comfortable rhythm that had been his life for the past four years. He loved the scorching scent of the melting metal, the hiss and crackle of coals, the feeling when the metal took the shape he wanted under his hammer. He was lost in the hiss and clang and the smooth rise and fall of his hammer and the bellows. 

_ I’m better suited to this life than I was to roaming the moors.  _ Will knew his way around hot metal and hammers and flame. He wasn’t at home in the war outside these walls. He had never been a fighter, and he should have known that.

He didn’t know how he would to explain this to the others. They always seemed so glad to have him around. But he didn’t help them, not in any way that really mattered. He couldn’t coax information out of reluctant informants like Catriona, he couldn’t predict troop movements like Jack or Moira, he couldn’t patch up injuries like Rebecca, and he certainly couldn’t save everyone’s lives or help them escape with the random things he’d picked up off the side of the road the way Angus did.

At least here, alone, he had some time to think about what he was going to say to them. The smithy was the best place to be in winter, short of a kitchen. Will had always appreciated the constant warmth. Most buildings were drafty and the cold seeped into his bones when he was inside them. Forges were always pleasantly warm. He remembered that that had been how he’d first met Rebecca, when on one particularly bitter day she’d come inside to take refuge for a time. 

He was so deep in his thoughts and his work he didn’t notice when the door opened, and he nearly dropped a hammer when someone spoke up from behind him.

“I thought I’d see if ye needed some help.” Angus lifted a twisted horseshoe from a table. “Alistair left quite a few things unfinished. Conall said he was one of the slowest smiths he’d ever seen.”

“He was likely worried about making a mistake,” Will said, turning back to his own work. 

“And ye’re not?” He could hear the smile in Angus’s voice.

“There’s nothing to be gained from being timid. If it’s wrong, you can start over. But eventually you just need to trust yourself and know that you have the skills to do what’s necessary. And if you find that you don’t, then it’s time to quit the profession.” He slammed his hammer onto the anvil a bit more strongly than necessary.

Angus picked up a twisted rim of a wheel.  “What’s bothering ye?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s nae nothin’. Ye’ve been here the better part of a day, and ye havnae come in tae eat.”

“There’s a good deal to be done here.”

“I’ve never known ye tae turn down a meal here. Old Molly’s feelin’ a bit insulted.”

“Tell her I’ll come by the kitchen later.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rebecca stepped in carrying a covered basket. “I brought you some of what was left over.” She handed it to Will, and he took it from her slowly. 

“Thank you.”

She stood quietly for a few minutes, then glanced at the door. “I suppose I’ll go see if Catriona wants help stringing the loom.” Will knew she’d wanted to stay and talk, but if he opened his mouth he would tell her everything, and he wasn’t ready. He watched her walk back out into the snow, then set the basket on the table and turned back to his work.

“Will, ye cannae lie tae me like this. What is the problem?” Angus stepped up and put one hand on Will’s arm. “I promise it stays between us, whatever it is.”

Will sighed.  _ Maybe it would be good to talk to someone, to try to find a way to say this gently. _ “I’m not...I can’t keep traveling with you all. I’m only a burden, I don’t help you. And I’m no soldier. I thought I could do what you were doing, and it worked, but I’m so much more comfortable here. This is what I know, and this is where I can actually do some good. I’m useless out there with the rest of you.”

“Ye shouldnae think so ill of yerself.” Angus turned so he was looking Will in the eyes. “Ye’ve more than once kept a horse from comin’ up lame, and ye’ve helped me make more traps than I can count.”

Will shrugged, defeated. “I know. But it never feels...right.”

Angus let go of his arm and looked down. “I understand. Ye have the winter tae think if over. We willnae be leavin’ again until the snows stop; it’s dangerous to travel otherwise.”

“Thank you.” Will looked down at the cooling metal.  _ They’re my family. I want to be with them. But this is what I was born to do. What choice do I make? _

Angus began moving some of the chunks of metal in the forge, distributing them so the heat worked on them evenly. “If it wasnae for the way they slaughter my people and ravage the land, I’d nae be part of this war either. It’s nae in my nature to fight. I’d rather heal, rather repair what’s broken. But I havenae got much of a choice in the matter. I envy ye that.”

Will sighed and placed the end of the shoe in the pail of water, where it hissed and steamed. “Why do you fight, Angus?”

“Because I cannae justify sitting idle while my people are slaughtered and exiled and tortured simply for bein’ Scottish. If it’s their lot tae suffer for their blood, it should be mine as well.”

Will could understand that.  _ How many times have I listened to Rebecca’s stories and felt her pain? How many times have I laid awake with the guilt that I was spared by an accident of birth from that life? How many times have I walked past men who look like me, in chains, and known they are my brothers?  _

He looked at Angus, thinking about the way he seemed perfectly at home in this place, with these people.  _ If this is where he feels at home, he shouldn’t feel obligated to leave. It’s a terrible feeling to be burdened with the idea that you need to avoid disappointing someone by not being what they think you are.  _ “You said you wouldn’t blame me if I decided that this is where I’m meant to stay. And I hope you know none of us would think ill of you if you chose to stop as well.”

“I know ye wouldnae. But I couldnae live with myself if I did.” Angus glanced into the bright flames at the heart of the forge. “It’s nae only what I choose to do. It’s who I am.”


	9. Feast+Family

It was the second time in a year Jack had uprooted from everything he knew, and despite any assumptions he might have made, it did  _ not  _ get easier. Castle Tilgeil-Teine was different in so many ways from Loch Ainslie. Jack could barely speak to anyone; he’d resorted to asking Catriona to teach him Gaelic. He’d have asked Angus but he was certain the boy would take every opportunity to tease Jack about his terrible language skills. 

Conall was a far different laird than Moira. It seemed he commanded respect because of his hard-won wisdom and generosity, relying less on the fiery spirit and ferocity that had characterized Moira. They were both strong leaders in their own rights, Jack would be the first to say, but Conall’s manner was less harsh, and after the first few days Jack was reliably certain he and his family would be accepted. 

Moira wasn’t settling as well as many of the others. She was a born leader, and now that that position had been filled by someone else, she seemed at a loss. Jack often found her in the library, studying the histories stacked there. He’d joined her many times, and they’d spent hours discussing battle strategies and wars of the past. Moira had a sharp mind, and Jack enjoyed learning more about how she had fought battles while clearly outnumbered and at a disadvantage. 

_ If any woman was born to the life of a soldier, it was her. _ Jack had always respected the small, determined woman, but talking to Moira Wallace was different than speaking with the Laird of Loch Ainslie. Without the burden of so much resting in her hands alone, Moira eventually became more open. Jack watched the harsh edges soften and the gentleness of the woman who had only to be an aunt and friend emerge more fully.

Will was back to his smithing, Rebecca was helping the estate’s herbalist (and becoming more and more fluent in Gaelic daily, which Jack found very unfair) and Angus was...home. It was the only way Jack could describe it. As the winter wore on, the boy changed. He lost the faint air of fear and worry that had hung over him as long as Jack had known him, and there was a fresh spark in him.  _ This is what he was like before we broke him. _ Jack had never thought the damage he and the rest of Fort Douglass had done could ever disappear, and he knew that somewhere in the boy it still hid, but seeing Angus so happy and lively and at home with the people who he’d spent most of his life with made Jack feel a bittersweet happiness.  _ Now that he has his real family, maybe he’ll want to leave that pain from his past behind. Maybe he’ll want nothing more to do with me. I’m only a reminder of all of it. _

But Angus never seemed anything less than happy that Jack and Rebecca and Will were there. He’d brought them into everything to do with the family, and by the time the year ended, Jack’s worries were beginning to fade into nothing.  _ Maybe this is the way it’s going to be. _ He could be content with this. 

Jack had to admit, he’d never seen anything like a Highland New Year. He’d spent every year at this time in a fort, never stationed in one of the villages, so he’d had no idea there were so many elaborate traditions surrounding their holiday, Hogmany.

He’d asked Catriona about it, and she’d told him the Scottish had banned Christmas celebrations as a “papist holiday” and instead returned to the older traditions surrounding the coming of the new year. She’d assured Jack that she’d explain them as it became necessary. 

The first thing he had to ask her about was what he’d heard called the “first footer”. There’d been a lively discussion of who it would be around the dinner one evening, and when Angus had suggested he could be the one to go around the village and wish the people health in the new year, Conall had shaken his head with a smile.

“Nae, ye’ll nae be the first through the door, laddie,” Moira laughed. “Not wi’ yer hair.”

“It’s considered ill luck for a light-haired person to be the first to walk into the house on the new year,” Catriona whispered.

“I believe the honor will be yours, Jack,” Moira continued. “Ye’ve brought luck tae the family already, though I think ye need tae be bringin’ a fair share more just for Angus and his tricks. I’d rather he nae burn the estate down with anything.”

Angus looked at her with a mixture of woundedness and indignation.

After the meal, he’d pulled Jack aside and told him the same thing Catriona had, then gone on to tell him about some other things Jack could expect to see happen.  “I should likely warn ye about the  _ saining, _ ” Angus said. “Ye may find it a wee bit strange.”

Jack did find the whole ritual of purifying the house a bit odd, but said nothing. And promptly forgot about it. Thus, he was unpleasantly surprised when, in the middle of the night, there was a loud knock at his door. When he opened it, Catriona was standing outside with a small pail in one hand, and as soon as the door opened she dipped her hand in and shook it in Jack’s face.

“Hey!” Jack did not appreciate having even the small splatter of icy water on his face. 

“Ye dinna want the evil spirits tae pester ye, now do ye?” Catriona asked, smiling. 

Jack began wiping the water away with the hem of his shirt. “I think you may be one of them, disturbing me at this ungodly hour.”

Jack was grateful Angus had explained the whole thing, even if he hadn’t remembered it until just now. Otherwise, he’d have been more concerned than he already was at the sight of someone he knew was not the most cautious person in the world, carrying flaming tree branches through the house. 

When Angus walked past, Jack threw his room’s windows open as instructed, waited for the choking smoke to fade, and then followed the boy outside, where he was putting out the fire in the fresh snow.

“I don’t think any evil spirit could have survived that,” Jack said when Angus turned around.

“Ye didnae strike me as one tae joke about them,” Angus said, grinning. “Ye panicked when ye thought ye heard the banshee screamin’ one night.”

“One time, one time. And I’ll have you know, I thought it was Catriona or Rebecca in trouble, not the banshee’s ‘omen of doom’ thing.”

“Nae, ye asked me what the banshee scream meant and if ye were a dead man, and then when I told ye it was an owl ye nearly fainted in relief.”

Jack wouldn’t admit to anyone how much the superstitious part of his nature sometimes got the better of him. Scotland was full of these strange old legends, and legends had to have started from some grain of truth, somewhere in the past. Jack felt better knowing they’d at least done due dilligence, even if he didn’t  _ really _ believe in all the legends behind the actions.  _ And yes, I did think it was a banshee. But only for a few moments, so it doesn’t count. _

“We’ve always left the fire to Angus, although after the year he was twelve Conall never lets him out o’ his sight,” Catriona said as she stepped out to toss away the rest of the water. “He near burnt down the whole house.”

Angus shook his head and walked away, tossing a handful of snow at Catriona as he did so. She shook it out of her hair and glared at him.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Jack sighed. “One of the first things he did, after I met him, was take apart my flintlock and use it to make the side of a mountain cave in. I thought he was insane.”

“Most people do. He was always an odd child. Never much for his cousins’ games or sports. He preferred reading or climbing trees or building strange things. Mother used to say she thought he was a changeling child.” She laughed. “I used to believe it, when I was young. After all, what but a fairy child could make a river lift logs into trees?” 

“He did what?” Jack asked, confused.

“He wanted a place he could go, away from the house, so he built a tiny shelter in a tree. But he’d made somethin’ like a mill wheel that lifted the boards up tae the place he was working, and there were all sorts of ropes and wheels. He tried to explain it, but I never really understood what he’d done, only that it worked.”

Jack discovered that since he’d been given the duty of the first footer, he was not going to be allowed to go back to sleep in his own warm...well, less so with the window open...bed after his rude awakening. Instead, Moira and Conall came out, handed him a basket full of small gifts, and sent him off into the village.

When he’d finished, he was yawning but smiling. He’d found it hard to understand what many of the people had said, but he could clearly tell they were no longer worried about him being a  _ sassenach  _ and had accepted him as part of the family here.

When he returned to the house he was in for another surprise. A cheerful crowd of tenants had gathered on the stoop, bringing everything from handfuls of salt to dark bread to a chicken, which Jack immediately handed to Will, who’d only just woken up. The farrier carried the protesting bird off to the stables, scolding it all the way for pecking him. 

The rest of the day was substantially less strange. Jack deeply enjoyed the meal Old Molly and her kitchen help had outdone themselves making, and Moira and Conall traded stories of “the old days”. Catriona told Highland legends to the younger children in the household in spooky voices that made them shriek and then laugh. When Angus did something with some of the salt and a few other powdery substances that made the hearth fire burn all sorts of strange colors, the children were entranced.  _ I can see why Catriona used to believe he could have been a farie’s changeling. I think I might have believed it myself if he didn’t have an explanation for everything he does. _

When Alistair pulled out his pipes, everyone got up and cleared the center of the room. Catriona and Angus were the first to start dancing, and several of the other younger family members followed. Rebecca and Will were there, but Jack watched Will barely survive one dance and then sit down with Conall. From what he could hear, Will was suggesting some improvements to the forge. 

Rebecca came Jack’s way and he cringed. “No, I am not dancing. With anyone.”

“Please, Jack,” Rebecca tugged his arm, smiling. 

Moira appeared from seemingly nowhere. “Maybe I’ll have better luck convincing ye?”

“Oh no.” Jack tried to pull away, but Moira had one hand, Rebecca had the other, and Jack was forced into stumbling through one ridiculously fast reel. 

Moira turned out to be a shockingly good dancer, and she dragged Jack back in later. He wasn’t quite as unwilling this time. He’d actually begun to enjoy it a little. Until he stepped on Moira’s foot by accident and she returned the favor by ‘accidentally’ tripping him in the middle of the song. 

The party lasted until the wee hours of the next morning, and Jack, exhausted, slept far later than usual. He was awakened by chatter in the halls and a faint smell of smoke.

When he stumbled blearily downstairs, head still aching from the one too many glasses of whiskey he’d had the night before, he found Angus and Conall, along with Moira, Catriona, and some of the house servants, standing with the door open. The chilly wind bit through Jack’s shirt and he crossed his arms over his chest as he moved to look at what the others were standing around. 

There was a black patch on the snow-covered stoop, half buried in the falling snow. Jack couldn’t see exactly what it was, but the burnt smell was stronger. Whatever it was must have been set on fire. 

“That’s an old clan signal for every able person to gather for war,” Angus whispered, picking up the charred wood, crudely carved in the shape of a bird in flight. “The phoenix burning is asking the clan to rise.”

Conall took the wooden bird from Angus. “None of the family would have done this. My nephews all know they don’t have the authority to ask for this from me, even if war is what they were seeking. None of them would be so bold.” 

“There’s still one of your direct descendants left,” Moira said softly. 

_ What’s this? What is happening here?  _ Jack felt as if he were the last one to be told a secret.

“Jamie left the family when he left his son on my doorstep,” Conall snarled, sounding every inch the wolf his name implied. “He’s nae right to come askin’ anything from the clan, let alone war.”

“He sailed for France five years ago,” Moira said. “I cannae imagine him returnin’. Are ye certain it’s nae your brother’s kin?”

“Ye kenned where Jamie was?” Angus asked, turning to Moira with mixed shock and pain in his eyes. “Ye kenned all this time and ye didna tell me?”  _ I suppose I’m not the only one Moira was keeping secrets from.  _

“I didna want ye thinkin’ anythin’ of that man,” Moira said. “Ye have a kind heart, and ye like tae believe people are good. It would have been like Nighean all over. Ye would never have stopped until ye found him, and he would only have hurt ye again.”

“I’m nae a child, Moira! Ye could have trusted me.” Angus turned away, leaving Moira and Conall and Jack to stare after him. 

“I’ll go speak to him,” Jack offered, following Angus out the door and into the snow.

He found the boy at the edge of the estate’s wall, huddled into a corner that provided some protection from the wind and snow. 

“I’m nae in the mood tae talk to ye.” Angus muttered, but Jack thought it sounded as if he’d been crying.

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t freeze,” Jack said quietly, sitting beside him.

After what felt like an eternity, Angus looked at him. “My father was...when he was younger, he was a good man. After my mother died, he changed. I...I think he blamed me for what happened. He left me here, with Conall. I’ve nae seen him since I was ten.” He shook his head. “And Moira’s kenned where he was all along.”

“Sounds to me like he wanted nothing to do with this family. This wouldn’t be him, right?” Jack asked.  _ I heard what he dreamed of when he had that fever. The man wasn’t just distant, he was cruel. _ Jack might be slightly disappointed that Moira hadn’t been upfront with  _ him _ , but he could understand her reluctance to tell Angus anything.  _ That boy should be kept far away from anyone who can hurt him, even if that’s his own family. _

Angus’s shoulders slumped. “He’s the only one of Conall’s real blood left. The only one who could legitimately call for us to rise. It must be him.”

“Then why wouldn’t he stay around, if he’s asking for help?”

“He doesnae dare face Conall after all of it. He...he’s askin’ fer me. Fer my help, somehow.” Angus held out a small knife, the exact copy of his own  _ sgian-dubh _ . “This was left with the phoenix. Conall gave me two of these, the same as Jamie had. And this one I left in one of my traps.”

“Why would he go to all this trouble?” Jack asked.

“I dinnae know. But I need to find out.” Angus stood. “He cannae be far off. We’ll go after him, and when we find him, we’ll know what he wants.”

Jack sighed, pulling himself stiffly to his feet.  _ I think running toward this man, who’s not even brave enough to show his face, is the wrong move. _ But Jack already knew that if he didn’t agree to help Angus, the boy would go alone. And that was a worse option than the first. At least if things went terribly wrong, Jack could be there to make sure Angus didn’t get hurt all over again. 


	10. Musket+Pine Sap

In no way could Rebecca see how anything they were doing was a good plan. 

It was midwinter, they were pursuing a man who seemed more like a ghost, and they were riding directly into the heart of a British outpost’s area. There were two forts nearby, and Rebecca had seen far too many soldiers, and signs of them, in the past few days. But this was the direction Angus’s father (or at least the person they assumed was him, Rebecca was still not certain how some burnt wood and a knife could be indisputable proof) had taken.

As if riding directly into British occupation wasn’t a terrible enough idea, the past few villages they’d stayed in had been passing around rumors of Jacobite rebels in the area. The stories they told sounded a good deal like Robbie MacInerney’s work.They’d all been hoping Robbie’s men would have decided to wait out the winter as well. But it seemed there was no good luck coming their way anytime soon. 

She missed Will. He’d decided to stay behind, working in the forge, and while she couldn’t fault him, she missed his steady, reliable, solid presence. She’d thought about staying as well, but in the end she’d found herself packing her familiar knapsack and joining Jack, Moira, Catriona, and Angus.  _ I can’t shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen. That I’ll need to be there. _ She might not have the “second sight’ Old Molly claimed to, but Rebecca was rarely wrong when it came to feelings like this.

But the thing Rebecca disliked the most about was what this journey was already doing to Angus. Overnight, she’d watched him go from free and content to so determined and focused he was half-killing himself. He barely ate, slept poorly, and if anyone so much as tried to suggest stopping, he was sharp with them. She’d seen Jack, Moira and Catriona try without success to convince Angus to slow the pace of this.  _ This isn’t him. If this is what just the thought of his father does to him, I don’t want to know what will happen when we meet the man himself. If we do. _

They’d been following a series of cryptic clues since they’d left the MacGyver estate. The first had been a knife nearly identical to Angus’s, but with a small J carved into the chipped handle, left at a tavern, whose owner knew nothing more than that a cloaked man had instructed him to give it to someone who wore a phoenix brooch.

The next place they stopped had told them a Jacobite had left a watch with them. Once again, the owner had been instructed to hand it over to whoever came wearing a brooch that matched the one the Jacobite had had. 

Inside the watch a scrap of paper contained the name of a town, Alford, deep in the British-controlled territory. A town that, according to the rumors they’d been hearing, was now the Jacobites’ new base. _ Robbie’s a fool. Setting his men up in the heart of the British land. _

She’d said as much to Catriona when they set out for Alford, but the girl had seemed to think otherwise. 

“It’s nae as foolish as it sounds. The last place anyone would think to look for a Jacobite band is in the heart of British occupation. And if Robbie’s plannin’ tae strike a hard blow, he’s close enough tae the forts to gather information, to plan an attack.”

“Do you think he might be?”

“Robbie’s always been more interested in making a show than fighting wisely. If he thinks he has the chance tae infiltrate and destroy a fort, he’d take it.” She sighed. “And if he has James MacGyver working with him, he stands a chance of doing it. Ye know what Angus can do, and Jamie has years more experience.”

Rebecca didn’t like the sound of any of it. Angus’s father working with the Jacobites who’d nearly killed Angus last year couldn’t be a good thing. 

The closer they got to Alford, the more rumors they heard. And most of them confirmed what Catriona had assumed. Robbie and his men were free with the drink and their plans. They were definitely intending on infiltrating one of the forts, Fort Stanton, and they bragged about someone in their ranks who could slip into the fort and destroy it from the inside.

_ That leaves little doubt that James has joined up with them. _

They were, Rebecca guessed, now a little less than a day’s ride from Alford. The closer they got, the deeper the pit in her stomach became.  _ Angus is so desperate to find his father. To get some answers about all of this. About why, after all this time, James is trying to find his son again. And I hope for his sake it’s a genuine desire to reconnect. _ Rebecca couldn’t help but worry that James would see Angus exactly as the Jacobites always had. A tool, a set of skills that were useful in wartime.  _ It’s more than likely he’s not searching for a son. He’s searching for a soldier. _

She pulled her horse to a halt when Angus held up a hand. “Wait, I hear somethin’.” He dismounted and began to climb a tree near the side of the road with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing it since childhood. She could see that as soon as he was more than a few feet above the ground his hands began to shake, but he didn’t stop. 

The tree he’d chosen was higher than most of the surrounding ones, and the moment Angus got above the rest of the trees he stopped, looking out at the road in the direction they were moving. Rebecca could see, even from the distance she was from him, that Angus had noticed something that would be a problem. She could tell from the sudden stiffness in his posture and the way he glanced at all of them before climbing down.

“Riders. At least a dozen, coming at a gallop.” Angus slid the last few feet to the ground. “We need tae be goin’ and fast.”

If they stayed on the road they’d be caught; the soldiers’ horses were fresher. Rebecca and Catriona urged their horses down into the brush, and Moira followed. Angus and Jack were the last to come. 

The trees were thick, they’d be well hidden if they could just get a short way in. And then Rebecca heard Jack curse, an all too familiar sound. She turned her horse to go back, and saw that Jack’s horse was stuck, her bridle hung up in a branch.

“Nae, Angus will help him. We have to leave now,” Catriona stopped Rebecca from urging her own horse back to help. The drumming of hooves on the road was louder now. “The more of us that are there, the more they’ll catch if things go wrong.” Rebecca couldn’t deny that she was right. “Jack would want ye to be safe.”

She turned her horse again and they plunged into the snowy shadows.  _ Please, Jack, please be safe. Angus, you’ll get him back here safely, right? _

A few minutes later, she heard shouts and the ominous crack of musket fire, and then behind them crashing. She startled, afraid they’d all been found and pursued, but it was only Angus and Jack. 

“Go, they’ve seen us!” Jack shouted. Rebecca didn’t hesitate. They moved as fast as they could through the tangle of trees, then when they reached a river, plunged the horses into it and rode upstream for some time, before riding out at a small ford buried deep in the forest. 

Nearby was a rugged outcrop of rocks, and Angus led them around to the opposite side, where Rebecca was surprised to see a shallow cave.

“This is a Jacobite hiding place. I’ve used it before, with Robbie.” Angus slipped off his horse, then turned to the others. “We should be safe here for the night.”

Rebecca slid off her own horse, and as she did so noticed something strange about Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, you're bleeding.” Jack looked down at his arm. There was a stream of dark blood soaking into his sleeve. 

“Maybe that was a musket ball and not a branch.”

Angus dug his knife into the bark of a tree, then caught the sap dripping from it on his knife. “This may sting, but it’ll stop the bleedin’.” He smeared the sticky substance over Jack’s arm, then tore a strip from his plaid and wrapped it around the wound. “This should keep the dirt out. Are ye certain ye’re not worse hurt?”

“No more than this, I promise.” Jack gave Angus a half-smile.

“And ye’re a fine one to be asking that, you are.” Catriona shook her head. “Yer hands are all scratched from the tree.”

Jack glanced at Angus. The boy looked away from him, and Rebecca saw a shadow of pain and guilt in his eyes before he bent to pick up some fallen branches. “I’ll get us a fire started. Snow’s coming soon. It’ll hide the smoke.”

Rebecca began to help, gathering the driest branches, leaves, and moss she could find. Jack seemed fine, he was rubbing down the horses and probably bragging about the worse injuries he’d survived to Moira and Catriona, because both the women were shaking their heads at him. 

When she brought a fresh pile of branches to Angus, she knelt beside him, hoping to make him look her in the eyes.

“Angus, it wasn’t your fault, you know that, right?” He nodded, but didn’t look away from where he was arranging the fire. She sighed and stood up. “Jack’s fine, he’ll have another scar to brag about, is all. You need to stop blaming yourself for an accident.”

“If I hadnae come after Jamie this wouldn’t have happened.” Angus’s voice was so low she almost missed it. “I dragged you all into this.”

“No, we came because we wanted to. Because we care about you. Rebecca rested a hand on his shoulder. “This was our choice, and we knew the risk.”

Angus didn’t reply. 

Rebecca could tell Jack was nervous that night. It might be that his arm ached, but she’d seen him ignore worse injuries entirely. But he seemed to be avoiding Angus.  _ Jack, that’s the wrong move. I know you don’t want him to see the bandage, so he doesn’t have to remember what happened, but he’ll only tell himself you’re angry with him.  _ Rebecca knew that train of thought too well.  _ When you grow up with people who punish you for anything that happens, whether it’s your own fault or not, you begin to believe you’re to blame for whatever goes wrong. _ And she had the feeling Angus’s father had been the kind of man to do just that. 

By nightfall, none of the tension hanging over them had eased. Rebecca slept restlessly, and she could tell Jack was doing the same. Her dreams were haunted by faceless ghosts, wrapped in hooded cloaks, that slipped away whenever she tried to touch them.

She woke up to angry shouting. Jack and Moira were standing at the entrance of the cave, Catriona was getting up from where she’d been curled up asleep, and Angus was nowhere to be seen.

“Moira, he’s gone.” The woman’s cold glare would have killed if it was a knife. 

“Did ye see anything?”

“I saw him get up, near midnight, and go out.” Jack flinched as Moira’s hand went to her claymore out of instinct. “I saw him walk out, he didn’t go near the horses. I didn’t think anything of it. And then I fell asleep again.”

Angus’s horse was still tied to the tree, and he’d left long enough ago that the snow had blown and covered his tracks.

“Ye let him walk out, and ye never said a word,” Moira said, her voice seething with barely controlled anger. 

“I didn’t know he was going to run off! I thought he couldn’t sleep and was going outside to clear his head.” Jack looked hurt and defeated.

Moira was about to say more, but Rebecca cut her off. “Blaming anyone won’t help now. We need to find him.”

“I think I may know where he’s gone.” Catriona cinched her own mount’s saddle tight. “There’s a bridge on the river we crossed yesterday. About six miles downstream from the ford we used, and it’s a major supply route to Fort Stanton. If that bridge went out, it would delay the convoy by at least two day’s travel.”

“Why would that be any use to us?” Rebecca asked.

“Because the supply carriers stop in Alford. And Angus must have realized that that will be the best way for someone to infiltrate the fort. It’s the sort of plan he’d use, so I’m sure Jamie would as well, and Angus knows that. We have to get to Alford before the supply train does, if we want to be sure Jamie will still be there, and this way Angus can be sure we will.” Rebecca shook her head.  _ That never would have occurred to me. But I suppose Catriona’s known both Angus and his father much longer.  _

“It’s a long shot, but it’s all we have to go on,” Jack said. 

They rode in silence back the toward the road and the bridge. They had to stop and travel well out of their way when they heard the clatter of hooves and shouts in English.  _ They’re looking for a shallow ford. Angus must have destroyed the bridge. _

She heard nothing about having captured a Jacobite, or having killed one, but the men were very likely searching for whoever had destroyed the bridge. And if they found Angus before his friends did, he’d be killed.

Moira must have come to the same conclusion. “We’ll spread out.” Rebecca followed Catriona as she cantered her horse across the river to search the other bank. She watched the ground for any sign of footprints, and the trees for any movement. When they reached the shattered remnants of the bridge, she couldn’t push away the dread chilling her faster than the winter wind.  _ There’s no signs of him getting away. What if he was captured? _ There was no blood, he couldn’t be dead, could he?  _ Please, please don’t be dead.  _ She didn’t think Jack would be able to cope if he knew that the reason Angus went off and got killed alone was that he felt guilty about what happened to Jack.  _ Don’t do this to us, Angus. Please. _


	11. Bridge+Ice

It had taken Angus the better part of an hour to make his way through the forest to the bridge. The trees were silent in the snow, and the unsettling quiet had left too much time for him to think.  _ If Jack had been killed yesterday, it would have been my fault. I dragged them all out here. They’re in danger because of me. _

It was a relief to see the road and the bridge. When Angus had a problem to work on, his mind could focus on that, and not on the guilt weighing him down. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

The bridge’s supports were already rotting out from years of water damage and heavy use. Some of the wood came away in spongy handfuls when Angus tugged at it, and what wasn’t so easy to damage he laid coals from the tin he’d brought with him against, letting them smolder and burn down into the heart of the wood. 

It took time, and he hoped Jack and the others wouldn’t wake up yet. It was still dark, still a few hours left if he was judging the time properly.

He knew Jack and Moira would be angry with him for leaving alone. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the blood running down Jack’s arm. _When people are around me, they get hurt. I wish they understood; I’m only trying to protect them._ _I was so focused on trying to find Jamie, and I dragged them all along with me. And now Jack is hurt because I was so focused on what I was trying to do that I forgot about the danger._

Angus checked the supports and, shaking them, decided they’d been weakened enough. He wrapped the rope around the supports and then around one of the trees on the bank. It took a few pulls, and he slipped and fell once on the slick snow, but eventually the bridge began to creak and groan, swaying slightly. A crossbar snapped, and then moe supports began to give as the weight fell to them.

He scrambled down the bank and gave the collapsing structure a final shove and the whole thing crashed into the river. The sight of the wood floating away amongst the chunks of ice was satisfying.  _ That’ll delay them by at least a day while they search for a ford they can cross with wagons. _

He was almost certain the supply train was the way Jamie was planning to slip inside Fort Stanton.  _ It’s what I would do if I was plannin’ this. _ He’d have waited in Alford until the wagons stopped for the night, then hidden himself in one of them. It would be an uncomfortable day and a half of travel, but a guarded supply train wouldn’t be heavily searched, and he’d likely be able to slip out and find anything he needed to sabotage or even blow up the fort under the cover of night.

_If the supply train got to Alford before we_ _did, Jamie could have already been hidden. I can’t miss him again. We’re so close, and if this is the end of his game, who knows where he’ll go next?_

He was about to climb back up the bank and start returning to camp, and hope Jack and Moira wouldn’t scold  _ too  _ much, because there was no chance they weren’t awake by now, when he heard it. There was a sound that until just now had been drowned out by the rushing water. Hoofbeats. And wagon wheels crunching through ice and frozen rocks. The supply train was on the road and close.

They weren’t meant to be there so soon. He didn’t have time to run. And with the bridge gone there was no way for him to hide. They’d see him in seconds, and then they would shoot him. 

The riverbank sloped down steadily to the water in either side. There were no overhangs to hide under, and the river was straight for several yards on either side. He tried, in one last desperate effort, to climb up the bank, but the snow was slick from how many times he’d already gone up and down, and he fell, painfully scraping his already sore hands and bruising one knee. He stood, limping, and he could hear the horses’ bits jingling, and wagon wheels creaking, and men talking, over his own panting, labored breaths.

He had one option left that didn’t end in being captured or shot. Angus looked down at the black, churning water and bit his lip, shivering. The water was fairly deep here, and the current was fast enough it would carry him rapidly downstream,. He doubted the first place the soldiers would look for someone who’d sabotaged the bridge was in the water.  _ I dinna want tae do this. But if I wait, I’ll die.  _

This was going to be painful. He took a last deep breath, braced himself for the shock, and jumped.

The water was so cold he almost didn’t feel anything at first. Then the pain hit, and the spasms that threatened to cramp every muscle in his body. He breathed out slowly, trying to fight the dizzying shock, letting the water drag him around a bend. The voices and hoofbeats faded slightly,  but they were replaced by the rushing roar of water in his ears.  _ I cannae breathe. I cannae move. _ He was going under, he was going to drown.

_ I’ve done this before. When I pulled the MacDougal boy out of our lake _ . But before was with a circle of cousins and friends holding the end of a rope he’d tied to his waist. Before was close to Conall’s manor, where he’d been bundled inside next to a roaring fire and wrapped in so many blankets he could barely move. 

Angus choked on a mouthful of water, and the feeling shot a new urgency through him, enough to force his aching, exhausted body to move. He forced himself to the surface, coughed away the water, and gasped a few breaths of air as cold as the river, that felt like they were freezing him from the inside out. 

_ This was an awful idea. _ Angus could hardly think, he was so cold. The current was dragging him away from shore, toward the center of the river.  _ Nae, nae, I need to get out. _ It wasn’t even a conscious realization now, just the panicked instinct that told him every moment he spent in the frigid water made him less likely to live through this. 

He grabbed for a branch overhanging the river, but he was moving too slowly and his fingers were too numb to hold on. The current pulled him away, dragging his head under, and the renewed shock made him gasp, then choke on the mouthful of water he’d breathed in. He didn’t just feel cold anymore, he felt so frozen he’d shatter if he was touched, like a thin sheet of ice.  _ I need to get out. I need to get out or I’ll die.  _

The thought forced a bit more effort from his exhausted body, and he managed to get one hand around a gnarled root. The water almost pulled him away again, and he knew if he let go he’d never be able to do this again. He’d only get colder and freeze.

He forced himself to tighten his grip, to pull himself a little closer to shore. Every movement was slow and painful, and he felt as if his blood was slowly turning to ice.  _ It’s so cold. I just want to get out. I want to go home. _ But home was a long way off, and no one was coming to help him.  _ I should have told them where I was, what I was doing. I should have let them help...but what if all I did was get them killed too?  _ The rough wood cut into the raw palms of his hands, drawing blood that stained the snow, but he couldn’t feel the pain from the cuts, not when all he could focus on was the overwhelming icy knives that seemed to be flaying him alive. 

Angus dragged himself out of the water, struggling to get far enough up the riverbank that the water wouldn’t pull him back. He’d miscalculated the strength of the current and how much the chill was going to drain his strength. He was much, much farther downriver than he’d meant to be. There was no hope of his walking back to the camp on his own. He shuddered, and the movement turned into a shiver that shook his entire body, teeth chattering uncontrollably. 

_ I need to get up. I need to get away from the river. _ He dragged himself a bit further onto the shore, but every movement was agony. His body was stiff and the cold stabbed through every bit of him. 

He wanted a fire, needed a fire, but if he started a fire the soldiers could find him…and if he didn’t he’d freeze. It was so, so cold. He couldn’t stop shaking, and he just wanted this to be over. But whatever he did now, he’d have to help himself. No one knew where he was, no one was coming to help him. If he wanted to live he had to think of something soon.

He pulled himself to his feet, shaking, gasping. It was even colder standing, the wind cut through his wet clothing and he wanted to lie down and curl up away from it. But if he did he would die. 

_ Nae one is coming. Nae one is going tae help ye. _ It sounded like Robbie’s voice in his head now.  _ If ye cannae ride, ye’ll be slowin’ us down too much. Ye’ll need tae stay behind.  _ It hadn’t been even close to the first time.  _ Ye can catch up tae us, if ye live through it.  _  He didn’t know how many times he’d dressed his own wounds, treated his own illnesses.  _ I cannae be coddlin’ a child. There’s a war tae be fought, and if we want tae win we cannae be weak. There’s nae room here for any man who cannae manage his own problems. _

Jack wouldn’t say that. Jack would never tell Angus to deal with a wound or an illness or even his fear alone. But Jack wasn’t here now. The only one Angus could count on to find a way to save him was himself. He pushed himself to his feet, painfully, nearly crying at the way the icy cold tore at him, the way the wind slashed through his wet clothing. He just wanted to be dry and warm.  _ Ye’ll nae get either if ye cannae figure it out for yerself, _ the harsh voice in his head reminded him.

He began to walk, struggling through the snow, cringing at the clinging weight of his water-soaked kilt and plaid. Usually the wool was enough to keep him warm even if it was wet, but now he was too cold, and he just wanted to get the wet, clinging cloth away from him. But it was trapping what little body heat he still had, so he couldn’t. He twisted the cloth in numb, stiff hands, trying to wring out as much water as he could. 

_ I need shelter, and a fire.  _ He could find what he needed for both if he could get into the trees. The pines would have dry branches underneath the outer ones, protected from snow, and there would be safe hollows under them as well. He still had his  _ sporran,  _ so he still had his knife and flint.  _ I can do this. _ He tried to ignore the way his thoughts reminded him that it could take too long for the fire to get hot enough, that his hands were already numb and striking a spark would be that much harder, that he had already stopped shivering and most people who died from the cold died when that happened. 

He felt miserable, but he couldn’t waste any time thinking about that.  _ I need to find a way to get warm. Now. _ He stumbled toward a snow-covered pine, branches pulled almost to the ground by the weight.  _ If I can stay out of the wind… _

And then his foot caught on something under the snow and he stumbled. He didn’t have the coordination or strength to keep himself upright, and he landed painfully hard in the snow, breath driven out of him. 

Maybe if the British soldiers found him they’d decide to shoot him and then this would be over. He didn’t care who came for him now as long as they’d do something about how cold he was. But he was so far from the road, so far from the bridge…

He lay there miserably, unable to find the strength to force himself to get up. It was marginally warmer lying on the ground than standing, and he tried to curl up, but his body felt stiff as if he was already turning to ice. But at least now that aching, stabbing cold was gone. He actually felt a bit better. Warmer.

He knew feeling warm was bad, he needed to make a fire, he needed dry wood from under the tree…but it was so much effort to move. 

_ I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry, Moira. _ He tried to stand, one more time, but it was too hard, he was too tired, and the blackness creeping in on him was warm and safe and comfortable...


	12. Wool+Warmth

To say Moira Wallace was angry would have been an understatement. Angus was missing, and in the heart of British-occupied territory.  _ If he’s captured again I doubt there will be someone like Jack to help him now. His luck may have run out. _

She was praying to hear the soft owl-whistle that would have meant Catriona and Rebecca had picked up his trail. But there was nothing. She and Jack were still following the trail of footprints.

_ I cannae believe this happened. Well, I suppose I can, given the way Angus tends to go dashing off to do God knows what whenever he pleases. But I cannae believe Jack saw him do it and let him go. _

The words slipped off her tongue almost before she realized it, and it was too late to take them back. “This is yer fault.”

“Mine?” Jack looked at her with a wounded glance, but she could see that he was thinking the same thing she was.  _ If ye’d gotten up and stopped him, we wouldnae be here now. _

“Dalton, ye knew he was upset. Ye should have kept a better watch of him.” Jack flinched at the use of his last name.

“Moira, I swear I didn’t have any idea he’d do something like this.” Her anger fizzled like a fire that had been doused as she realized he was telling her the absolute truth.

_ He doesn’t know Angus like I do. _ It was easy for Moira to forget that sometimes. Easy for her to see Jack and Angus’s friendship and forget that less than a year ago, they’d been enemies. That they’d never met each other before Angus was captured. It was so easy to forget that Jack didn’t, couldn’t, remember how many times Angus, blaming himself for something, had disappeared for hours or even days.

He hadn’t been there when Angus nearly burned down the Loch Ainslie forge and then vanished into the forest for two days, returning only because he’d found a wounded fawn and needed milk from the kitchen to feed it. 

Jack hadn’t seen what happened when Catriona fell out of the small shack Angus had built in a tree and broke her arm. He hadn’t been there when Conall and Moira and half the MacGyver estate had searched high and low for the boy, until they found him back at that tree house, desperately building railings on it in the middle of a terrible thunderstorm. He didn’t know that the tree had been struck by lightning just as they were arriving and Angus, precariously close to the edge of the platform, had fallen, breaking his leg and wrist, and had been terrified of heights ever since. 

_ If we hadnae found him there, if the storm had been a bit worse, he would have died. Angus does crazy things when he feels guilty.  _ But Jack didn’t know that. Moira sighed.  _ Maybe I’ve been harsher than I ought to have been. _

They’d reached the bridge. Here, there were a large number of footprints, and scuff marks, and some rope hastily tossed behind a tree. Angus had been at work here, but there were no tracks leading away.  _ Did he cross the bridge before he collapsed it?  _ Moira could see only the churned hoofprints that meant Rebecca and Catriona had gone past. They would have whistled if they had seen tracks.

_ What happened here? _ Moira didn’t think like Angus, but she did think like a soldier. There were wagon marks on the opposite bank, churned up like someone had turned around in a small space. She hoped Catriona and Rebecca hadn’t run into the supply train, hopefully the soldiers wouldn’t find a suitable ford for some time.  _ There’s snow covering part of those tracks.  _ It hadn’t been snowing since they left the cave to look for Angus.  _ The supply train was on the move early. Probably trying to beat the storm comin’. _ She could see the clouds sweeping down from the north.  _ They came earlier than usual. Angus probably knew their patterns from working with Robbie, especially since this seems to be an area Robbie prefers. He would have thought he had more time. _

She glanced at the black water.  _ If they’d shot him, the water could have carried him away. We wouldnae see the blood.  _ She pushed those thoughts aside. 

“We should keep going. It’s possible he went further downstream, let the water cover his tracks.” She hoped they’d find footprints coming up the bank each time they rounded a bend.

Jack tugged her arm and pointed toward the treeline. “Moira, what’s that?” There was a dark shape near the trees, and at first glance she thought it was a sleeping deer. But when she kicked her horse forward, she could make out the patterned cloth.

Moira would have known that tartan anywhere. “Angus!”

He didn’t move. 

She couldn’t see blood but that didn’t mean he wasn’t wounded. She glanced quickly for any sign of what had happened, and then noticed the wavering trail in the snow that led back toward the riverbank.  _ He didnae… _

Slipping off her horse and kneeling beside him she put a hand on his shoulder and felt the ice.  _ Oh God, he was in the water. _ She couldn’t tell if he’d fallen in by accident while taking down the bridge, or done this on purpose to escape. It didn’t matter just then either way.

“Jack! He’s been in the river. He’s near frozen tae death,” Moira said sharply. He was so cold. Barely even shaking, huddled there under the overhanging branch of the tree. 

Jack was already removing his jacket, even as Moira struggled to undo Angus’s brooch and pull away the stiff-frozen wool. She could see faint, uneven breaths fogging the air above his mouth, but if it weren’t for that she’d have thought he was dead. 

Angus looked so young, wet hair clinging to his forehead and stiff with ice, skin pale and almost blue, eyes closed. Moira tried to keep him resting on her cloak while she worked to remove his icy clothes; he didn't need to be lying in the snow. 

“How bad is it?” Jack asked, wrapping his coat around Angus as soon as Moira managed to pull away his wet clothes.

“I cannae ken. How long he was in the water, how long he’s been lyin’ here, I dinnae ken.” Moira pulled her cloak around him. “We need tae warm him. It looks like he was seekin’ out shelter under these trees. Out of the wind he’ll warm sooner.” Jack helped her move Angus down into the hollow under the branches, scrambling in after them, breath fogging the air. 

Once they’d sat down pressed as close as they could on each side of Angus, holding cold, blue hands in their own, Moira glanced at Jack. His face was pale, but she would assume more from fear than from cold.

He glanced at her, then looked down, and in that brief second she saw tears shimmering in his dark eyes. “Moira, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. If I had known, believe me, I would have tied him to a tree and stood guard all night.” She nodded.

“I ken ye meant no harm. It cannae be helped now.” She began to rub one hand up and down Angus’s arm, trying to warm him a bit faster.

Earlier she had been ready to kill Jack for letting Angus leave, but he was as much if not more terrified than she was by all of this. She was just so afraid of losing the boy again. Of losing anyone else.  _ I’ve watched my family and my home be ripped away from me. I will not lose another person I’ve been given the care of.  _

_ “Dùisg,  _ Angus _. Dùisg.”  Please wake up.  _ She could feel his uneven heartbeat, the soft, shivering breaths. Moira had seen men die from the cold like this, back when the Loch Ainslie estate was in contention and Moira and her supporters had been forced to hide in the heather. Many a man, woman, and child had been lost that winter. 

Jack looked at her again, and this time there was no attempt to hide the tears. He reached for her free hand and she held it tight. There were no words needed. Moira sighed softly and twisted her fingers into Jack’s.  _ We found him. And God help us, we’ll bring him home alive. _

The truth was, Moira liked having someone to blame. She liked knowing why something happened, so she could fix the problem so it never happened again. But in all honesty, this was no one’s fault. She couldn’t blame an exhausted, wounded Jack for falling asleep again without making sure Angus came back. If this disaster was anyone’s fault, it was that of the half-frozen boy resting between them. 

“Angus.” She rested a hand on his cheek. “Please, laddie. Ye need tae wake up so I can give ye a proper scolding for being such a fool.”

“You heard her, son.” Jack’s statement was perfectly natural, as if he didn’t even realize what he’d just said. There was no conscious choice of the word “son”, no pause as if he had to consider what he was saying.  _ He’s afraid, and any barriers he has are falling. _ When Jack was trying to be strong, he hid his concern, and his affection, and his emotion. But now that was all falling away. “You wake up, or I’ll toss you back in that river myself.”

If Angus had been awake, Moira could only imagine the way he’d have torn Jack’s logic apart.  _ “If ye’re tryin’ tae save my life, I think near-drowning me again would nae help.” _

She settled a bit more closely to Angus, wrapping the cloak around them both to share more of her own warmth. “Wake up.”

“I th-th-think I m-might r-r-rather nae.” The soft, shiver-broken whisper startled her, and she looked up to see the half-closed blue eyes blinking sleepily. “Y-ye’ll b-be sc-scoldin’.”

“Aye, and ye ken full well that ye deserve it.” Moira let a bit of sharpness slide back into her tone.  _ It’ll never do tae let the laddie see how worried I was. _

Jack pulled Angus over so the boy was leaning against him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “When I saw you were gone, I was frantic. Don’t leave like that without telling anyone. Better yet, don’t do idiotic things alone, ever. I would have helped.”

_ If we hadn’t stumbled onto him by sheer luck...and Catriona’s instinct...he would have died alone out here. _ Moira shivered at the thought. Angus had been alone all his life. Now that he had people who did care, he shouldn’t have felt like he had to avoid them, or lie to them. 

“What did ye do that for?” She asked.

“I th-thought…I th-though-ought I c-could…” He stopped, racked with such painfully strong shivering that Moira felt her own teeth chattering from it. “I d-didnae w-w-want an-nyone else to b-b-be hurt.”

“Ye’ll nae be doin’ a thing like this again, ye ken?” He nodded, still shivering. “Ye’ll nae be riskin’ yer neck without yer family beside ye.” Angus curled closer into their warmth, and Moira settled herself against him. They could find Rebecca and Catriona, and a way home, later. For now, the important thing was that Angus was still alive.


	13. Plan+Tents

In the end, it was Rebecca and Catriona who found them. The girls had apparently been forced to take a circuitous route to avoid the supply train’s scouts, and when they saw Jack and Moira’s horses tied across the river, they’d forded and found the three still huddled under the tree. Angus had been a bit more alert, but still in no condition to travel. Jack wasn’t about to risk moving the boy until he was definitely recovered.

They waited the better part of the day, as Angus alternately slept and woke, shivering, his body still warming. Catriona built up as large a fire as she dared and set to drying Angus’s clothes, and Rebecca made sure the few small patches of frozen skin on his hands and feet weren’t a danger. 

Angus had been fortunate to escape this disaster as largely unscathed as he was. Jack had seen plenty of men who’d lost fingers and toes, hands and feet, to the brutal Highland winters. As it was, Rebecca was a bit worried about his feet, but it seemed he’d kept his hands tucked close enough to his body to avoid them freezing badly. 

There was no chance of them reaching Alford that day. Angus might have redirected the supply train, but Rebecca and Catriona had seen the wagons on the road on their side of the river. Either there had been a soldier who knew the river area well, or they’d been fortunate and found a low ford quickly. It would still likely get to the town before them, no matter what they did. And riding into a town seething with British soldiers, and now suspicious British soldiers, would be suicide.

Once Angus had stopped shivering, and his clothes had dried enough for him to put them on, although Jack insisted on the boy keeping his coat, and Moira said the same about her cloak, they began to ride back to the cave.  _ We should go home. We’ve lost our chance to find James in Alford, and God only knows where he’s planning to go next. If he survives infiltrating and sabotaging a British fort.  _

Angus rode behind Jack, swaying slightly on the horse and shuddering every time a gust of wind cut through the trees. He stayed pressed close to Jack’s warmth the whole time. Night was already starting to fall, and the faint winter sunlight was almost gone. 

Jack nearly slammed into Catriona, who was riding in front and scouting, before he realized she’d stopped.

Catriona held up a hand. “There is another horse. Nae ours.” Jack blinked through the deepening shadows, then realized she was right. Angus’s horse was still tied to a tree, where it had chewed off the bark and was nosing through the snow for any lingering grasses. But beside it was a grey horse, its tack standard army issue.  _ They found us. _

Jack was about to wheel his horse and run, and pray they got enough of a head start to outrun the soldier, when someone stepped out of the cave. Jack could see the man’s face, he was looking directly at them. And he wasn’t wearing a uniform.

Jack hear Moira sigh. “James MacGyver.”

“Moira Wallace. It’s been far too long.” The man’s accent was an odd mixture of Scottish, French, and English.  _ Guess Moira was right about him spending some time on the continent. _

“Jamie?” Angus’s voice was shaky. Jack felt the boy slide down from behind him.

“Ye’ve grown a good bit,” Jamie said, reaching for Angus’s shoulders. The boy backed away, flinching, and Jack felt cold rage bubbling inside him.  _ That’s the look of someone who expects to be hurt.  _ He’d seen it far too often in Rebecca, when he first met her. 

He didn’t blame Angus. There was something cold in James’s eyes. This was not a man who just reunited with his long-lost son. This was someone who was frustrated, tired, and...angry.

“What are ye doing here?” Angus asked, still defensively holding his hands in front of him.

“Are ye a damned idiot?” James asked, sharply, and Angus flinched. “Ye should have seen the plan days ago. Unless ye’re nae as good at thinkin’ things through as I taught ye.” Jack heard Moira hiss, and Catriona’s breaths shuddered angrily.

“I-I did.” Angus sounded like a scolded child. “Ye were in Alford, and there was rumor ye were plannin’ tae sabotage Fort Stanton. Ye...ye’d use the wagons as cover, and then once ye were inside ye could find what ye needed.” James nodded along, as if he were a schoolmaster and Angus was a pupil struggling to recall each point of a lesson.  _ Those were the kind of men I always hated to see teaching. They blamed the students for what they didn’t know rather than helping them learn. _ He hated to think that Angus had spent any time with this man as a child.  _ Small wonder he acts as if making a mistake is the end of the world. _

“Unfortunately, thanks to yer actions, that’s nae longer the plan. I cannae ken what ye were thinking, if ye kenned what I was plannin’.”  _ He was trying to give himself time to find you, you miserable excuse for a parent. _ “As soon as ye ruined the bridge, the supply train doubled its guard and bypassed Alford entirely.” James sounded disappointed, and his anger appeared directed at Angus. “When I heard what happened, I kenned there was only one other person who could do something like it, and I need yer help tae fix this mess.”

Angus looked almost desperately from James to Jack. Moira tried to speak up, but James cut her off, and she glared at him.

“There’s two days’ ride between us and Fort Stanton. And at least three regiments combing the countryside looking for me. Since ye ruined my plan tae go in with the wagons, I’ll be needin’ yer help tae keep the soldiers off our track.” Angus flinched and looked guiltily at his hands. 

_ He did what he did because he was trying to find you, like you made it look like you wanted him to, you bastard! _ Jack wanted to land a good punch on this guy. He could drop him with one or two clean hits and they could all leave. He was on the point of getting down from his horse right there. But then he caught sight of other horses, and riders, in the trees.  _ The Jacobites. _

“Robbie assured me yer work was nearly as good as my own. And he also told me ye were likely tae be camped here.” Angus must have seen the other Jacobites as well. He stiffened, and Jack could see the twitch of a muscle in his jaw as he glanced at the ring of riders.  _ The last time he saw them, they’d threatened to kill all of us. _ He wondered if James knew that. The next words out of the man’s mouth confirmed it. “He said ye’d likely only help if properly...convinced, and he’s here tae help me with that.” Jack heard rustling behind him and felt something press against his back. 

Angus turned to look at them all, and there was a raw, desperate anguish in his eyes, mixing with guilt and panic.  _ Damnit, he’s going to blame himself for this too. _ He stared at James, and the clearing was silent, apart from the jingle of bits and the horses’ stamping and huffing breaths. 

Moira spoke up again. “Jamie, this is…” He motioned to one of the men, and Jack saw the woman flinch as she likely felt a gun against her back as well.

Finally, Angus sighed. “I’ll help ye. But I have conditions.” Jack shakes his head slightly.  _ What’s he doing? _ “I want yer promise that the Jacobites willnae lay a hand on the rest of my people.” 

“Of course.” James raised one hand. Jack could see Robbie, in the trees, his face clouding with anger. But the man made a motion and the pressure left Jack’s back. “No harm will come to them as long as ye are with me.” The veiled threat in James’s words makes Jack shudder.  _ And if Angus decides not to go along with the plan, James will be more than happy to let Robbie shoot us. _

“How were ye plannin’ on gettin’ inside the fort?” Angus asked. 

For answer, James turned to the pile of supplies placed against the wall and pulled off a rough brown coat, revealing a British military uniform folded there. Jack didn’t miss the faint bloodstain someone had worked to remove, surrounding a tear in the back of the jacket.

_ Well, that clears up the fate of the horse’s owner. _ Jack felt a cold pit in his stomach.  _ This is the kind of Jacobite I used to hate. Someone who’s not above shooting a man in the back to steal his uniform and his horse.  _ Jack had grown used to working with Angus and avoiding as much bloodshed as possible.

“That’s a risk.” Angus said. “Can ye pass yerself off as a soldier?”

“I can,” James said with a sharp Yorkshire accent. Jack would have accepted it.  _ He might be able to succeed.  _

“And you have a way to get through the gates?”

“We ride in the morning.” James snapped, obviously wanting to bring the discussion to an end.  _ It sounds like he shares one thing in common with Angus. He doesn’t have much of a plan until he gets where he needs one. _

Jack could barely sleep, surrounded by the Jacobites, who had been staring angrily at him since they had dismounted and entered the cave. Beside him, Angus was shuddering.  _ Good God, I can’t imagine how terrible this must be for him. _ Jack had had a strained relationship with his father at times, especially when he chose the army over his father’s apothecary business, but in the end, he’d been with the man when he died, and they’d had nothing between them that hadn’t been talked over. 

Angus had been searching for his father for weeks, desperate for answers. And then when they found him, the man turned out to be a cold-blooded killer, not even above threatening his own son’s friends to force his cooperation.

When they rode out, Jack, Moira, Rebecca, and Catriona were kept at the center of the group of Jacobites.  _ Does James really think we’re going to run and abandon Angus? More than likely, because that’s what I’m sure he would do.  _ The boy deserved so much better than that man for a father.

Angus was riding poorly, back and legs stiff, yanking harshly on the bit. His horse was skittish and more temperamental than normal, picking up on its rider’s emotion. Jack could see Angus flinch each time James turned to say something to him.

They were making decent time, Jack noticed, and they’d just come out of the forest and over a rise that he knew was approximately a day’s journey from Fort Stanton. He’d been stationed there temporarily three years ago, but he would never have told James about it. If James’s plan suddenly changed to involve sending  _ Angus _ inside, Jack would tell them everything he knew in a heartbeat. But he wasn’t going to make James’s life unnecessarily easier.  _ Let him figure it out for himself; he’s proud of his own plans anyway. _

They crested the ridge, and suddenly both Angus and James wheeled their horses and galloped back. 

“What is it?” Robbie asked, taking his eyes off Jack for the first time all day.

“Soldiers. Camped under the rock ridge.” James glanced back. “We’ll need to find another way around.” Jack could hear shouting and barked orders carried on the wind. It seemed Angus could too. 

“It’s too late. They’ve seen our movement.”

Jack looked from the uniform stuffed in James’s saddle bag, to Jamie, to Angus. “I have a plan.”


	14. Camp+Capture

It was a shock to Rebecca to see Jack wearing a red uniform again. Despite the fact that the jacket was too narrow in the shoulders and too broad in the waist, and that Rebecca could see the bloodstain on the back, it was like she was seeing the past. 

For a moment, she was homesick for the way life had been, for the safety and security. For living without looking over her shoulder every day. For the small, neat life she and Jack had shared.  Life that held risks, yes, but had become the normal.

But then she looked at Jack’s face and saw someone who didn’t want to go back to that place. Ever since what happened with Angus, she’d seen Jack grow to hate that uniform more and more. 

_ He’s so much happier than he was, at least when we aren’t being held at gunpoint by a group of violent Jacobites who for some reason answer to Angus’s father. _ And she would be the first to say she liked her new life better too. Despite the dangers, the hardships, the struggles, this was the life she would never want to give up. She had a future with Will, and a brother in Angus and a sister in Catriona. And the closest thing to a mother she could find in Moira. And Jack was happy. Without the guilt of being second in command to a monster.

_ But this, this isn't that life. _ Rebecca might not know much about James MacGyver, but she had seen enough cruel, heartless men to know one. General Davis had been the same. Focused on only one thing, proving he was the best military mind in the British army. He had treated anyone he saw as beneath him with contempt.  His slaves, his soldiers, even his wife. And there was the same arrogant determination in James’s face.

She knew James had already killed, or at the very least approved the killing of the British officer whose horse and uniform he had.  _ Who’s to say his hatred doesn’t go deep enough that once he gets what he wants from Angus, he’ll let Robbie kill us anyway? _

She leaned toward Catriona and Moira. They hadn’t been allowed to talk to each other on the ride, ordered apart with angry glares and raised muskets whenever they rode too close to each other. Now, though, the men guarding them were distracted, if only slightly. 

“Moira?” She whispered. “Do you think James will keep his word?”

“I cannae be certain,” Moira whispered back. “Jamie has never been a man devoted to a cause. Never one tae think of his country above himself. Whatever this is, ye can be certain he stands tae gain by it, in some way.”

Rebecca nodded slowly. “Do you think Robbie is paying him?”

“I think nae. There’s something Jamie wants inside that fort, I’m certain of it. And he’s convinced Robbie that raidin’ the fort is a good plan.”  _ He’s certainly more intelligent that I would have given him credit for at first. He went to the most violent group of Jacobites he could find, because he knew they wouldn’t take issue with him wanting to infiltrate a British fort.  _

“What could he possibly want that the British have?”

“I dinnae ken.” Moira shrugged slightly and then looked away as one of the men returned.  _ Does he want information? Someone who’s stationed there? Something they have? _ There were too many possibilities. Rebecca had been there, for a short time, with Jack, but she didn’t remember much about the fort, only that there were more dark cellar areas than most places had and she’d been a bit afraid of them. 

Jack walked up to James and mounted the horse the other man had been riding. “I’ll convince them there’s an immediate Jacobite threat to the north. Once I’ve managed to get them away, you can continue. I’ll split off and catch up when I can.”

Rebecca hated this plan.  _ Jack is a deserter. If anyone there recognizes him, he’ll be captured and hanged.  _ But it had been years since they were at Fort Stanton, and many soldiers, like Jack, rotated between forts. They could only hope no one from Fort Douglass was there.  _ Jack wasn’t well-known, there are only a few people who would probably recognize him on sight.  _

The others rode up to the edge of the treeline. If Jack was unsuccessful, they needed to know immediately. She doubted they were staying close for Jack’s benefit.  _ If he’s caught, James will probably leave him to his fate. _ It seemed Angus was thinking the same thing. He was watching Jack ride off with a tense, fearful look.

As soon as Jack’s horse broke from the treeline, far enough from where the Jacobites were hidden to avoid attracting attention, Rebecca saw motion in the camp. A tent door flew open, and a man stalked out, grabbing the reins of a horse tied nearby and swinging into the saddle. Something about his stride and the way he kicked his horse so viciously to a gallop was something she remembered.

Rebecca froze. The man riding out to meet Jack was too familiar. This wasn’t some officer sent out from Fort Stanton to scout. It was Colonel Murdoc himself.

“Go! Now!” she shouted, wheeling her horse. “They’re not going to be stalled!” 

She looked back once, hoping Jack would have seen and run.  _ If he can get to the forest, he might be able to lose them. _ But she saw him halt, then hold up his hands.  _ No, Jack. Don’t do this. _ But all along she’d known he would.  _ Jack would do anything to keep us safe. Even let himself be captured. _

Rebecca pulled her horse’s head to the side, and the Jacobite riding beside her shouted something in Gaelic. She couldn’t understand all of it, but she knew enough to understand that if she tried again she’d be shot. But she wanted to get to Jack…

And then she heard Angus arguing with James. It was all Gaelic too, and she could pick out a few words, such as “snow”, “plan” and “finish”, but they were half drowned out by the galloping horses. And then James pulled his horse to a halt and they all stopped. Rebecca nearly crashed into the rider in front of her. He called Robbie to him and began talking rapidly, too fast for Rebecca’s weak command of the language to follow. Rebecca risked leaning toward Moira.

“What is he saying?”

“There may be a way to attack that camp. Angus has a plan.”

Finally, James stopped talking and addressed the group as a whole. 

“Murdoc and his camp are vulnerable. Striking a blow against them will clear our way to the fort and end his attacks and hunting for the Jacobites. If we can end Murdoc’s terrorizing, we need tae take the chance.”

Angus spoke up, Rebecca could tell he was reluctant but determined. “They’re camped on the lee side of the hill. At first thought it’s a good idea, shelters them from the wind. But the snow blows over the tops of these hills and hangs. If it gets tae heavy, or if there’s any particularly loud sound, they’ll be buried before they ken it.”

“We’ll circle back, make our way to the ridge, and then collapse any overhang. After the past few days, there should be enough snow there to bury the camp.”

Angus said something to James, too low for Rebecca to hear. James snapped back, loud enough that Rebecca could hear, “ _ Chan e, cha tèid sinn air ais agus cuidichidh sinn e _ .” 

_ No, we won’t go back to help him. _ Rebecca could only assume they were talking about Jack.  _ James is going to let that snow kill everyone in the camp. Including Jack. _

Angus shouted back, in English. Rebecca suspected it was an act of rebellion. “We cannae leave Jack there. He’ll die too.”

“Son, this is a war. One man’s life against the hundreds that can be saved if Murdoc is gone...it’s nae a choice.”

“I’m nae willin’ to let ye kill him. Give me two hours to get him to safety. Then do it.”

“Ye’ll get yerself killed. And fer nothin’. Fer a British traitor who ye cannae even trust. He may be tellin’ the colonel everything about ye as we speak. Ye cannae risk yer life fer that man.”

Angus’s face was stony. “Jack would never betray us. He would never hurt me.”  _ He would never abandon him. Not like James did. _

“I’ll nae let this plan fail because ye have some fondness fer this  _ sassenach _ .” James’s icy voice cut Rebecca’s heart.

“I’d nae be alive if it weren’t fer that  _ sassenach _ .” Angus’s voice matched James’s for harsh chill. “I cannae leave him tae die. Nae when I can help him.”

“Ye’ll keep tae the plan…”

“It’s  _ my _ plan!” Angus shouted. “If it werenae fer me, we’d still be runnin’. Ye’d have nae plan fer endin’ that man’s huntin’. Let me save Jack.”

“He’s right.” Moira snapped, ignoring the Jacobite guard glaring at her. “James, ye may have nae heart, but yer son does. And he’s tellin’ ye the truth. Jack’s saved his life more than once. Ye’d nae have a son left if nae fer him.”

James sighed. “Ye have an hour. Nae more.”

Angus wheeled his horse and rode back. He passed Catriona and Rebecca, and they both rested a hand on his arm as he did so.  _ Please, bring Jack home safe. Please don’t get yourself killed. Please be right about all of this. _

“Angus, please, be careful.” Moira twined her fingers into his. “I told ye not tae go doin’ idiotic things alone, and yet here ye are. I should hae kenned ye’d nae listen.”

“I’ll stay safe, Moira, I promise. I’ll come back to ye.”

Rebecca watched him ride off, and she had the strange feeling she wouldn’t see the same boy come home.


	15. Murdoc+Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious trigger warning for rape/non-con in this chapter. If you want to know what happens without having to read that part, you can read to the page break and the summary of the rest of the chapter will be in the end notes.

Jack was currently seated inside one of the camp tents, guarded by two soldiers while Murdoc paced, apparently planning what to do with this recaptured deserter.  _ Well, it’s not how I was hoping this would go, but at least it gave them some time to get away. _ The patrol Murdoc had sent reported that they’d been unable to pick up any trail of the others,  _ probably Angus’s doing, _ and while Jack had a likely broken nose and some cracked ribs from taking the brunt of Murdoc’s fury, it had been worth it.

Jack recognized sergeants Fletcher and Hayes standing near the door. Both had been Murdoc’s faithful supporters from the first day he came to Fort Douglass. They agreed with his harsh methods and were more than willing to participate in the brutality. Jack had seen Hayes kill five men in a tavern brawl. And Fletcher was known for forcing cooperation from landowners by taking their wives from them and assaulting them while their families looked on. 

Jack had no illusions about how this would end. He’d been hoping to redirect the search long enough for the others to escape safely, but perhaps the best he could hope for now was that Murdoc would be more interested in interrogating him than in pursuing the Jacobites. And Jack could hold out a long time.

Murdoc stepped slowly around the chair Jack was currently tied hand and foot to. There was an even more insane gleam in his eyes than Jack had seen when the man was his commander.  _ Being given full license to kill and torture to fulfill his orders has gone to his head. _

“I’m sure this is a meeting you were not looking forward to, Dalton.” The man smiled coldly. “I, on the other hand, oh I’ve dreamt of this for months. Ever since you  _ lied to me!” _ His words were punctuated with a sharp blow to Jack’s stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs. “ _ Fled your duty! _ ” This time Jack barely noticed where the hit had come until it was over and blood began to drip into his eye. “ _ And cost me my prisoner!” _ Jack could hear a faint crack as something broke where Murdoc’s fist met his ribs. 

“I thought you were a good soldier, Jack. I would have recommended you for command when I was promoted. As I will be, once you help me find that pesky Jacobite outlaw.” He shrugged. “It seems you lose, this time. And you were so certain you would be safe, here with the wild Scots.”

“You’ll never find that Jacobite. He’s long gone,” Jack muttered. “He never trusted me, and he shook my trail a long time ago. I have no more idea where he is than you do. I’ve not seen him since a few days after we left Fort Douglass.”

“Oh Jack, you shouldn’t try to lie. It was never one of your strengths.” Murdoc’s gaze turned to the bandage around Jack’s arm, and he froze. The colonel untied the piece of tartan knotted there and smiled cruelly. “I would like to say I’m surprised at you, turning traitor and playing war with that little outlaw boy, but you were always too fond of those damn Scots. Too soft with them.” He leaned a bit closer. “You were never willing to do what needs to be done to win this war. Thankfully, your successors are more...dedicated.”

Murdoc fingered the strip of tartan. “I know this pattern well. I look at it every day.” He traced the stripes crossing the brown wool, several dark red and narrow, some wider and green. “The only prisoner who's ever escaped me. Thanks to you.”

“He’ll have been long gone by now. I was the distraction, to give him time to escape.” Jack shrugged, wincing at the way even the small movement made his head ache. “You’ll never find him. So if you want someone to punish for that loss, it will have to be me.”

“As satisfying as it would be to feel the life leave your body, bit by bit, I don't want you, Dalton. I want the MacGyver boy.” Murdoc sighed. “I have nothing against you, not truly. Small minds are easily swayed to false causes. But the boy, he was a puzzle, an enigma. Something new.”

“I thought you’d already had your fun trying to get anything from him,” Jack spat.

“I thought I had too. But you know, that escape of his, it gave me time. Time to consider my actions. At the time, I would have killed Angus, when he failed to provide me with anything useful. But I’ve had many, many nights to ponder, and I’ve decided that it would have been such a waste. You know, in a way, I’m actually grateful to you, Jack. If you hadn’t helped the boy escape, I would never have had the time to actually  _ plan _ what I have in store for him. To work out all those perfect little details.”

“Well, if you’re so grateful, why don’t you just cut me loose and we’ll call it even?”

“Oh, no, Jack, that wouldn’t be any good. You see, I need you for this as well. I've concluded I handled the situation incorrectly.  You can't break those stubborn Scots with physical punishment. But there are other ways to break a man's spirit.” Jack flinched.  _ Don’t you dare use me against him. _ He could only pray that someone who had no heart would never understand that the only certain way he could force Angus to do what he wanted was the threaten the people the boy loved most. 

“And if you’d care to look outside, I believe it has already succeeded.”

The tent flap was shoved open and two more soldiers walked in. Between them was a snow-covered figure Jack recognized, and he hung his head, suddenly exhausted.  _ No. No, you shouldn’t have come. Not for me. _

The new arrivals, Lieutenant Helman and Major “Ghost" Gantry, both men Jack knew only by reputation, forced Angus to his knees in front of the colonel. He glared up at Murdoc as the colonel twisted one hand in his blond hair and pulled his head upright.

“The only person who has ever escaped me. I find you quite fascinating, my dear Angus.” His smile never reached his eyes. “Hold him,” Murdoc snapped, and Fletcher and Helman grasped Angus’s arms so tightly the boy flinched.

Murdoc slid his hands down the boy’s sides and arms, stopping when he felt the knife sheathed in Angus’s sleeve. He pulled it out and held it almost lovingly, running a finger along the deerhorn handle and the shining silver blade.

“I’ve always found you Scots and your knives interesting. I’ve yet to meet one of you who hasn’t been carrying one.” He pocketed it with a small smile. “I have quite the growing collection.”

“I’m aware. Ye used them on me last time we met.” Jack had to admire Angus’s fighting spirit.

“Honestly, I’m rather surprised you survived our last encounter. You must be stronger than you look,” Murdoc smiled and his teeth looked like a wolf’s bared fangs. “I’d like to see my handiwork. I’m sure it’s quite a masterpiece.” He tugged at the collar of Angus’s shirt, and the boy flinched. 

“Don’t touch him,” Jack growled.

“Your empty threats are mildly amusing, Dalton,” Murdoc shrugged. “But seeing as you are the one tied up, under armed guard, on your way to a court-martial, I do believe you have no say in the matter.”

Murdoc turned his attention back to Angus. “You were a fool to turn yourself over to me. You could have run, but you didn’t. I assume you share the same loyalty to Dalton as he has for you.” Angus glanced at Jack, and Jack could feel his heart sinking into the cold toes of his boots.  _ This is going to go one of two ways, and either one will hurt.  _ “You’ll do exactly what I want, or things will become extremely unpleasant for your friend Dalton.” Angus nodded, slowly, watching Jack pleadingly. 

_ No, don’t give him anything. I’m not worth it. Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for me, I won’t be able to live with myself if you do. _

Murdoc motioned Gantry over, then turned back to Angus. “Hand him your clothes. All of them. You won’t be needing them for this.”  _ No, no, no.  _ But Jack couldn’t tell himself Murdoc wasn’t that cruel.  _ I shouldn’t be surprised, after the stories of what he’s done. Not after what I’ve seen.  _

Angus’s face went white, then crimson, but he reached for the brooch even then, unclasping the shoulder of his plaid.

“No! Murdoc, that’s…” Jack’s head was whipped sideways, blood filling his mouth from the force of the blow. 

“Open your mouth again, Dalton, and I’ll let the rest of my men at him too.” Murdoc’s black eyes were cold as the wind outside. 

Jack closed his eyes. It was all he could do for Angus now. 

* * *

 

But it didn’t stop him from hearing the men laughing and joking as Angus was forced to strip in front of them. It didn’t hide Murdoc’s laugh, his heavy breaths of anticipation, or Angus’s terrified, half-choked gasps. It didn’t stop him imagining that monster’s hands trailing over Angus’s naked body, tracing the terrible scars he’d left there. 

Murdoc wasn’t content to be silent, and Jack was certain the comments he made were as much to goad Jack as to shame Angus. “I’ve yet to find any Highlander, man or woman, with more lovely eyes than this one.” And a bit later, “Such delicate hands. I’m certain I can find a use for those clever fingers that’s much better than breaking free of a cell.” 

He sounded like someone admiring the fine points of a horse at an auction. He continued, and each thing he said was a bit more ominous than the last. It was clear what his intentions for Angus were, but he was drawing out the humiliation and agonizing suspense as long as he could. 

The other soldiers, especially Fletcher, occasionally added their own crude observations, and Jack’s stomach clenched in hot anger.  _ He’s going to pay for this. They all will. _ Jack didn’t know how, but he’d find a way to make sure of it. 

“How long do you think it'll take him to beg?” Fletcher asked, his voice thick with desire. 

Jack ground his teeth and strained his hands against the ropes, but nothing budged. He could hear Angus’s teeth chattering, whether from fear or from the way he was now completely exposed to the icy drafts, Jack couldn’t tell.

“Are you cold?” Murdoc asked, fake solicitous concern in his voice. “You won’t be soon, I promise.” Jack’s stomach rolled, and he could taste the bitterness in his mouth.  _ No, don’t do this to him.  _

Jack could hear someone walking over to his chair. Murdoc yanked his head up, and shook it violently. “I want you to see this, Dalton. To see that after everything, after betraying me for this Highland scum, you've failed. He is back in my hands and what you've done has only made his punishment worse. Watch, because this is your doing.” Jack darted a single glance at Angus. The boy stood with his head down, shivering uncontrollably but flushed with shame.

And then Jack looked straight into the monster's face, hoping Murdoc could see the rage building inside him. As soon as the man turned his back, Jack turned his head slightly and focused on a stain in the canvas near the door. No one noticed. Murdoc and his men had only one object of interest now.

Jack couldn’t avoid hearing the thud as Angus was forced to the floor, or the straining grunts that followed. Murdoc continued to taunt the boy, breathlessly, throughout the entire ordeal, and Jack wanted to beat that monster to a bloody pulp. 

Angus didn't try to beg or plead his way out, not even when Murdoc promised he'd end it the second Angus asked him to. Jack could hear the boy’s hitching sobs, choked-off cries, and frantic, gasping inhales through the whole thing. 

Jack himself could barely breathe, trying to shut out the rank smell filling the tent. He had closed his eyes again at some point, but no one seemed to have noticed. It was almost worse, though, not to see, to instead imagine the horror in front of him. 

He heard a final gasped sigh, and then someone buckling a belt and walking away.  _ Is it over? Please, let it be over.  _ There was a sudden gust of icy air; someone had opened the tent flap and gone outside. Jack shuddered, glancing at Angus huddled on the floor, still naked, still crying. He looked quickly away, trying to spare the boy at least a little shame. 

A few minutes later, the tent flap opened again, and Murdoc entered, a long metal rod in his hand, the tip of which was glowing red. He stalked over to Angus, rested his boot on the boy’s leg, and pressed the hot iron against his thigh, dragging the metal in some sort of pattern.

There was a terrible smell of scorched flesh, and Angus  _ screamed. _ His voice broke and he began to sob uncontrollably. Murdoc finished and set the poker aside, then bent down and pushed Angus’s sweaty hair away from his eyes, cupping the boy’s cheek almost gently in his hand. “I thought you might need a better reminder of whose you are than a flogging, this time.”

Angus shifted slightly, and suddenly Jack could see the source of that terrible burning smell. A ragged M had been branded into his hip.  _ Oh god no. That monster.. _ . Jack’s stomach rolled in a way that had nothing to do with the scorching scent, and he could taste bitter bile in his throat.

“Look!” Murdoc stalked over to Jack’s chair and forced his head up. “ _ This _ is what every one of those rebels should end like.” Angus was curled on the tent floor, face flushed from shame and streaked with tears, shuddering. “I'd thought about taking him back to hang, but honestly the experience was rather pleasant. I think I'll keep him around for a while, until I grow tired of him, that is.”

“I’m going to kill you, you monster!” Jack screamed. Murdoc only laughed. A laugh that froze Jack's blood and set his teeth on edge. It wasn't the laugh of a victorious conqueror, or even a pleasured lover. It was the sound of a madman.

Angus shivered, the sweat drying on his body chilling him as winter wind shook the tent.  _ I’m so sorry, Angus. I’m so sorry.  _ Murdoc leaned over Angus, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his neck and shoulder, and the boy flinched away, curling up. Jack could hear his faint sobs and the Gaelic words whispered under his breath. 

“ _ Chan ann a-rithist _ .” 

Jack didn’t know what the words meant, but he didn’t really want or need to. 

“Where is all that Jacobite pride now?” Murdoc whispered with a derisive hiss, gripping Angus’s chin and pulling his head up so the boy was forced to look the monster in the eyes. “You are mine, and there is no escape. I will do this again, as often as I want, until you beg me to end your miserable life.” 

Angus didn’t even answer. Two tears slid down his cheeks and he shuddered. Murdoc trailed his hand down the boy’s side to his hip, tracing the lines of the brand, and Angus made a choked whimper, then burst into wrenching, agonized wails of pain. 

Jack had seen the boy wounded, sick, frightened, and heartbroken, but watching him sob and shiver on the floor, he realized he’d never seen Angus break. Until now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack has to overhear the entire thing as Murdoc rapes Angus and then brands an M onto his hip as a mark of ownership. Murdoc says he's planning on keeping Angus for a while, as he's enjoyed the experience and wants more.


	16. Avalanche+Tears

“Make sure neither of them tries anything.” Murdoc waved a hand to Hayes and Fletcher, whom he apparently intended to leave in the tent. “I’ll be back shortly. I need to write to Fort William and inform them of the situation, and trying to work in here would be...too distracting.” He darted a lingering, lustful gaze at Angus’s trembling body, and Jack would have shouted at him if he hadn’t been worried that Murdoc might decide to punish Angus for Jack’s outburst. “And the smell in here is rather distasteful.” He began to walk out, flanked by the two other officers.

Almost as an afterthought, Murdoc lifted Angus’s plaid from Gantry’s hands and tossed it toward the boy. Jack could see the vicious pleasure in the man’s face.  _ He’s just reminding Angus again that he’s in control. If he wanted to leave him naked, he could have. He’s toying with him, like a cat with a mouse.  _

Angus must have known that too. If Murdoc had wanted to see Angus scramble desperately for the cloth and clutch it to himself, he was disappointed. The boy only stared at him with those wide, wounded eyes until finally the monster turned on his heel and left, letting the tent door flap loose in a thick swirl of snow that scattered itself into the room and over Angus’s shaking, unprotected body.

Even then, he made no move to pick up the cloth. He simply huddled even tighter into himself, whimpering. Jack felt a stabbing longing to cover the boy with a blanket and shield him from the awful stares of the two men still in the room, but it seemed Angus was too broken to care anymore. He laid there shivering and silent, seemingly oblivious to the way their eyes were roaming him. 

_ Stop staring at him like that. I’ll tear you limb from limb if I get out of this chair, so help me I will! _ Jack felt sick at the hunger in their eyes, the pointed stares, the indecent comments whispered between the two men. 

Angus stirred softly, and the moment he moved his burned leg he stiffened, whining low in his throat like a wounded dog. “Water. Please.” His broken voice was so soft Jack could barely hear it.

“What will you do for it?” Fletcher asked, chuckling.  _ You sick bastard. I’m going to gut you slowly for this! _

“Colonel said this one was only his, remember?” Hayes snapped.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’ll make it quick.” Fletcher stepped forward, staring down at Mac with undisguised hunger.  “It would be a shame to waste the chance to have a pretty thing like you.” 

Only then did Angus finally reach for the scrap of cloth Murdoc had thrown down. 

The soldier put his boot firmly on top of it, preventing Angus from pulling it to him. “Too late for that now. I like what I see, it would be a shame to cover it up.” Jack could see the animalistic gleam in Fletcher’s eyes. He reached with the toe of one boot to prod the boy out of his protectively curled huddle.

Angus grabbed the corners of the plaid still lying on the ground and pulled. Fletcher, off balance with one boot on the cloth and the other raised, fell backward, hitting his head hard against the frozen dirt. Angus snatched the man's gun, training it on the remaining guard. It had all happened almost before Jack could blink.

“Move, and ye’re a dead man.”

There was a cold calmness in Angus’s voice, almost completely replacing the frightened devastation Jack had heard earlier. He struggled to his feet, cringing slightly. 

“Put down the gun and tie him up.” Angus nodded from Hayes to the unmoving man on the ground. “And if ye do anything else I'll put a bullet between yer eyes.” 

Hayes did as he was asked, tying his fellow soldier with his own belt. Angus secured the second man’s arms and legs, then checked the bonds on both men to be certain they were secure. After he was satisfied, he pulled the men’s kerchiefs out and stuffed them into their mouths.

Only when Fletcher and Hayes were both bound and gagged did Angus pick up the grimy plaid from the floor and tie it around his waist, hands shaking as he knotted it.

“Jack?” Angus turned to him, and Jack was unwilling to meet his eyes.  _ I failed you again. I stood by and let Murdoc hurt you again. _ Jack had promised himself, after the flogging at Fort Douglass, that this wouldn’t happen. He’d promised Angus this wouldn’t happen.  _ I lied to you and I failed. I’m sorry. _ “Jack, are ye hurt?”

“No.” Jack’s wounded arm ached, his cheek felt hot and swollen, and his ribs ached with each breath, but it was nothing he couldn’t ignore. “Angus, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to get you out.”

“I’m not worth...this.” Jack couldn’t bear to say any more. He could feel Angus’s hands against his own, untying the ropes biting into his wrists. They were shaking uncontrollably, and icy cold. “What are you doing?”

“Makin’ sure we survive Jamie's plan.” Angus tugged Jack’s hands free, then began to work on his ankles. “We’ll need to move fast. Colonel Murdoc likely willnae be away long.” He was shaking and panting, and Jack could see the panic struggling with the determination in his face. 

“What are you talking about?” Jack pulled his hands free as soon as Angus undid the knots and began working at his feet. 

“Jamie plans tae bring down an avalanche from the ridge. Bury the whole camp. We havenae much time left.” Angus’s hands were shaking, and Jack could tell he was struggling to calm his breathing. When he stood, he winced and Jack could see tears glimmering at the corners of his eyes. 

They slipped out the back of the tent. Night was falling, and Jack hoped the darkness would hide them. Angus was limping and stumbling, his whole body wracked with shivering.  _ He’s all but naked and it’s so cold.  _ Jack pulled off his coat and draped it around Angus’s shoulders.  _ It’s the second time in two days I’ve done this. And I thought the first time frightened me. _

Angus looked up at the ridge above them, where Jack could see dark figures moving.

“We’re too late.” Angus whispered. “The snow will be comin’ down any minute. We cannae outrun it.”

Jack glanced at him. “What do we do?”

Angus seemed at a loss, scanning the ground around them. The he smiled, just a bit.“There’s a small cave. It’s nae much, but it should shelter us from the worst of the snow.” He pointed to a darker area that stood out just a bit in the gathering dusk.

And then there was a low roar, and Jack watched as heavy clumps of white began to roll toward them. He ran toward the dark space, Angus beside him. And then the boy’s limping grew suddenly worse, and he stumbled, falling to his hands and knees in the snow. 

Jack didn’t say anything, there was no time. He simply reached for the boy and ignoring Angus’s panicked flinch when he was touched, lifted him into his arms and began to run again, as quickly as he could while carrying the boy.

He ducked into the space below the overhang just as a spray of snow spattered onto his back. Both he and Angus pressed themselves as close to the back of the small cave as they could, trying to avoid the chunks of snow and rock that spattered in. 

“Find a branch, or something long!” Angus shouted over the roar of the snow. “We need tae leave a way fer air tae come in, or we’ll die here.” Jack didn’t argue. He knew Angus knew what he was talking about. Jack felt the floor and shook his head. There was nothing there. Murdoc had taken the sword from his uniform...the scabbard. That had been left attached to his belt. It was likely shorter than it should have been, but it would hopefully still be enough.

“What do I do with this?” Jack asked.

“Shove it upward, through the snow. Ye’ll have a hard time seein’ when ye break through now that it’s night, but hopefully ye’ll be able tae.” The rumbling was less ear-splitting. Either the avalanche was ending or the snow over their hiding space was getting deeper and muffling the sound. Jack hoped it was the former.

He began jabbing at the snow, cursing when it proved to be harder to break through than he’d expected. He was sweating through his shirt from the effort, but behind him he could hear Angus’s teeth chattering. He couldn’t see the boy, but he’d guess Angus was huddled up, probably trying his best not to cry.

Jack heard the boy’s panting breaths speed up, becoming more ragged and panicked.  _ We need air, yes, but he needs to stay calm.  _ Jack stopped working at the snow and moved carefully toward the sound Angus was making. He couldn’t judge where he was in relation to the boy, not in the dark, and his outstretched hand bumped the boy’s shoulder before he thought to give a warning. Angus flinched violently away from him, and Jack heard a small, quickly muffled whimper. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just me. It’s Jack.” He whispered in the same soothing tone he used on spooked horses. 

“I’m all right.” Angus’s shaky voice told Jack the exact opposite was true. Jack sat down carefully, deciding it was better to let Angus come to him.

Jack absently picked at a loose string on the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d protect you from him and I didn’t.”

“It’s nae yer fault. I chose tae come here.” Angus said softly. “Please, Jack, dinnae blame yerself for this.” There was a soft scuffling sound, like the boy was dragging himself a little closer. 

“I chose not to run. I wanted you all to get away.” Jack sighed. “It was worth it to me to know you’d be safe.”

“Yer family. I cannae leave my family tae be killed.” Angus whispered. Jack felt the brush of a hand against his leg, and sat perfectly still, as if he were coaxing a half-wild dog to trust him.  _ Don’t move. Let him come to you. _ “I couldnae forgive myself if I did.”

“And I’ll never forgive myself for letting him do what he did.”

“There was nothin’ ye could have done. Ye had nae choice.” Angus was pressing himself against Jack now, and he could feel the shivers rippling through the boy’s body. And then he winced, and Jack felt hot tears dripping onto his hand. “It hurts, Jack.” Angus whispered, huddling even closer and curling against Jack like a child hiding from a storm. “It’s worse than I thought it would be. Why would he…” his voice trailed into a gasping breath. “Why, what did I do…” Jack wrapped his arms around him and pulled Angus close to his chest, running his fingers through the sweat-stiffened hair.  _ What did you do to deserve this? Nothing. Nothing in the world.  _

Angus began to sniffle and gasp, rubbing his face against Jack’s shoulder. Huddled there in the midst of the snow, Jack held Angus and let him cry.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”  _ I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise. I’m sorry he hurt you again. I’m sorry, Angus. I’m sorry you ever met me because all I’ve ever brought you is pain. _

Jack didn’t know how long they waited in the dark before he heard shouts and scrabbling above them. For a moment he was afraid the avalanche had only angered the soldiers, not buried the camp, and that they’d found the pair’s hiding place.  _ I’d rather shoot us both right here than let Murdoc take Angus again. _ But the voices were shouting in Gaelic, and Jack relaxed slightly.

“Please dinnae tell Jamie what happened,” Angus whispered. Jack didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was already obvious. Without a change of clothes and a bath, neither of which he was going to get right now, Angus wouldn’t be able to hide a thing. 

A clump of snow fell toward them, and Angus flinched, huddling even closer to Jack and gripping his shirt desperately. Jack rested his cheek on the top of the boy’s head. _Oh, Angus. I’m so, so sorry._ _It should have been me. It should have been me._


	17. Pain+Shadows

Moira wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see when Jamie returned. She knew Angus would never have left the camp without Jack. But she also couldn’t see a way even Angus would be able to get the man away from Murdoc.

_ I’m afraid they’ll both die. _ Neither one would leave the other.  _ I wanted tae tell Angus tae stay, not tae throw his own life away on a lost cause. But he never sees lost causes. _ She was proud of him, proud that unlike his father, Angus had a heart, and that he refused to abandon the people he loved.

When she heard the low rumble that meant the avalanche had begun, Moira shuddered involuntarily. Catriona and Rebecca moved to stand beside her, and when one of the guards tried to push them apart, Catriona shoved his musket aside and slammed her knee into a very sensitive place. The guard stumbled back, gasping, and no one else bothered them.

Moira felt Rebecca’s rough fingers twist into her own. “They’ll be all right, won’t they?” The girl asked.  _ I cannae promise anything. But that’s nae what she wants tae hear. _

“Of course they will,” Catriona answered for her, voice shuddering briefly. “Of all the things that should have killed Angus a long time ago, I doubt it’ll be a little snow that manages.” But her hand was trembling where it rested on Moira’s shoulder. 

“And ye know he’ll nae be leavin’ until he’s sure Jack’s safe,” Moira added. “They’ll be comin’ home.”  _ I wish I believed that as much as it sounds like I do. _

It felt like they waited forever before there was a clatter of hooves. Moira watched desperately as the Jacobites rode back. Jamie and Robbie were first, and she could learn nothing from their cold, expressionless faces. And then she saw the riders behind them, and her vision blurred for a few moments with tears of relief.

Jack was in his shirtsleeves, shivering slightly in the wind. His face was a mess of blood and bruises, and his expression was dark and angry. In front of him on the horse, Angus was wearing Jack’s stained red coat, and although there was no visible damage, the boy was shaking violently.

Angus wasn’t even properly riding. Jack had the boy half-draped over the saddle in front of him, and Angus’s head was resting on Jack’s shoulder.  _ What happened to him? _ Angus was clutching Jack’s shirt with white-knuckled fingers.

Jack carefully lowered Angus to the ground, and the boy leaned shakily against the horse, as if his legs wouldn’t hold him. He didn’t move until Jack got down as well, and even then he walked like every step was a painful struggle.

Moira moved toward the two, pushing past the guard who tried to protest.  _ If he raises that gun tae me I’ll shove it in his face. _ She was about to reach out and pull Angus into a hug when he flinched violently away from her, and she took an involuntary step back as she realized the truth.

The smell was unmistakable, as was the way Angus stood gingerly. Moira could see blood and other things she’d rather not think about caked and drying on his legs.  _ Oh God no. _

Behind her, she heard Catriona gasp, and Rebecca muffle a sob into her hand.

Angus looked at them, his face a pitiful picture of shame and misery. He met Moira’s eyes for a moment, then looked down at his bare feet.  _ If Murdoc wasnae buried under the snow, I’d kill him myself. Slowly. Limb by limb. _ She shook her head, pushing the dark thoughts of torture and murder away for later. 

Looking at Jamie’s impassive face brought all that anger flooding back, however.  _ His own son was...was brutalized by that monster, and he cannae even spare a tear.  _ Moira’s own cheeks were wet.  _ Ye’re a miserable excuse fer a father, James MacGyver. Ye dinnae deserve a son like Angus. Ye dinnae deserve any child at all. _ As much as she wanted to end Murdoc’s life in agony, she wanted to watch Jamie suffer even more.  _ Murdoc sees an enemy, and has nae compassion for them. Jamie has nae heart fer his own flesh and blood. _

But now was not the time to dwell on hatred and vengeance. Moira held out one hand in a placating gesture, hoping Angus wouldn’t see her as a threat. “I’m so sorry, Angus. I’m so sorry,” Moira whispered. He continued to shiver.

“I didnae want ye to know. Please, I cannae bear it if ye all pity me.” His voice was a half-choked sob. 

“It wasnae yer fault,” Catriona whispered.  _ She kens all too well. _ Moira would never share the girl’s secrets, but Catriona had confided in her what the British soldiers had done to her and her mother when they drove them from their land. Moira knew there was pain there that would never fade, and that Catriona’s feverish quest for vengeance had been in part due to the scars no one could see. 

“Dinnae talk about it!” The sudden sharp anger startled all of them. Jack, unthinking, laid a hand on Angus’s shoulder to calm him, and the boy flinched, then bit his quivering lip, trying to force back tears. “I’m all right.” 

“Angus,” Rebecca said softly, and he turned his angry glare on her. She didn’t react more than to twist her hands into her cloak. “I just want to know if you...if you want any help. With anything.” She was staring at the ground.

“I want tae get this off me,” he said, and his voice was rising into a panicked pleading, despite his attempts to stay calm. Moira nodded. 

“Come with me. We’ll get water warmed fer ye.” Moira glanced at Catriona, and the girl nodded and moved toward the fire. 

She knew that Angus would want to be left alone to clean himself up, and as much as she wanted to help him, to spare him some of the pain, she knew she’d likely only make him more afraid. So she left him to wash behind a blanket Rebecca and Catriona had strung up, and sat down next to Jack. The former soldier was sitting in the snow, still without a coat but apparently oblivious to the cold. Moira undid her own cloak and sat down beside him, spreading the blanketlike material over both their shoulders.

“Jack, what…” Jack held up a hand to stop her. 

“Good God, Moira, please don’t ask me about it now.” His voice was rough from crying.

“Jack, I’m sorry. But I need tae know.” She put a hand on his arm. “The laddie’ll half kill himself hidin’ whatever’s wrong from us. I dinnae need ye doin’ it as well.”

Jack nodded slowly, but didn’t speak. Moira sat quietly and waited. She’d learned patience was important when dealing with someone who didn’t want to talk.

“He shouldn’t have come,” Jack whispered, more to himself than to Moira. “I didn’t run. I was ready to die to protect everyone else. I didn’t want him to try to save me.”

“Ye ken Angus too well tae think he’d leave ye behind fer any reason,” Moira said softly. “Especially if it was to protect himself.”

“I was  _ right there. _ Jack’s voice cracked, and there was a wet, tearful sound to it. “Murdoc made me watch...he made me  _ listen. _ While he talked about Angus like he was nothing more than a horse at market. While he...” The man’s shoulders sagged, and he buried his head in his hands. “I was there and I couldn’t stop him. This is my fault.”

“Jack, that’s nae true.” Moira knew there must be more to the story than Jack would reveal. Some threat to Angus’s life, some promise of worse if Jack interfered. Because, like Angus, Jack would never consider his own safety when it came to saving someone else. 

“Once it was over…” Jack glanced at her briefly, “Murdoc left and Angus...he made the guards that were left think he was no threat and then attacked them and got me free. We couldn’t get out before Robbie’s men started the avalanche, but he found us a cave to hide in and that’s the only thing that kept us alive. The camp is a ruin.” Jack sighed, softly, tears running down his cheeks. “Angus saved my life time and again today and I sat by and watched him be tortured.”

Moira couldn’t say anything in response, not now. Part of her, she would admit,  _ was _ angry.  _ Ye were there. There must have been somethin’ ye could have done. _ But at the same time, she knew that Jack wasn’t Angus. Even if there had been some insanely complicated way to get free and save the boy, it wasn’t Jack’s job to think of it.  _ He did his best. And by nae interferin’ he may have saved Angus’s life. _ It was hollow consolation but it was all she would get. 

“How did Jamie take it?” She was fairly certain she already knew the answer, but maybe, possibly, there was some compassion in the man’s shriveled heart she’d missed seeing.

“That bastard knew what happened the second he found us. All he did was ask Angus if he was fit to travel. And then he turned his back on him and told us to get ready and leave.”

Moira clenched her fists.  _ That man deserves tae burn fer what he’s done. _

She looked up when she heard footsteps. Angus was coming to join them, slowly, now dressed in Jack’s spare clothing, with the blanket that had been hung up wrapped around his shoulders. It was obvious he’d been crying, but equally obvious he was trying to hide it. He moved as if to sit down next to Moira and Jack, and then thought better of it and remained standing.

“The camp’s buried.” Angus sighed. “He’s gone, he’ll nae be comin’ back.” It sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

“Angus, it’s all right. Ye dinnae have tae be strong just now.” Moira could see his shoulders shaking, his hands trembling. 

“I’m all right.” He turned away, likely because he’d started crying again.

Moira got up and stood so she was facing Angus. He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and gasped, clearly trying to stop crying. Moira wanted to hold him close, but she was afraid any touch might startle him.

“I just want to go home, please.  _ Tha mi airson a dhol dhachaigh a-nis _ .” The whisper was so low she nearly missed it. 

Moira jumped at the loud sound of Jamie’s voice. “If ye’re ready tae be movin’ on, laddie, we’ll be needin’ tae make up fer lost time. I’d like tae reach Fort Stanton before word o’ this gets tae them.” Angus froze, the muscles in his jaw clenching, but he nodded slowly, with an effort.  _ After all this, he’s still willin’ tae keep goin’. He likely thinks he has nae choice.  _ Moira had more or less forgotten Jamie’s threat to allow the Jacobites to kill them, but Angus clearly hadn’t.

Moira couldn’t bear to see Angus still giving in to his father’s demands, still ready to put himself through hell to protect her and the others. “If ye force him tae work with ye, after this, ye’re a monster, James MacGyver. Just like the man ye buried under the snow.” Moira could see what she was certain Jamie couldn’t. The lost, abandoned, hurting boy who didn’t understand why this was happening to him. 

“I need him. I’ve been plannin’ this fer far too long, and he’s already cost me one route. He’ll nae be the reason I miss another. If the laddie cannae stop actin’ the woman about it, he’s nae son of mi-” James’s voice was cut off when Jack’s fist connected with the side of his jaw. 

“How dare you?” Jack’s voice was icy anger. “You have no idea what that monster did to him, what it cost him to rescue me.”

“Ye cannae see past yer own plans, Jamie,” Moira snapped, hand on the hilt of her claymore. “Ye see everyone as tools tae be used fer yer own ends. Ye treat yer own flesh and blood like a worn-out horse tae be driven until it drops. And I’ll nae permit it tae go on.”

“What, will ye fight me and all of them?” Jamie asked, rubbing his jaw and glancing at Robbie.

“Maybe we will.” Moira had no idea where Rebecca had gotten that musket. Then she saw the Jacobite on the ground, holding his bleeding nose. “And you’ll be the first one who falls.” She saw a slight glimmer of fear in Jamie’s eyes, and he held up a hand to stop Robbie, who also looked uncertain. He and his men were clearly not outmatched, but Moira could see the looks of disgust on the faces of many of them.  _ If it came tae it, they’d likely turn on Robbie and Jamie. They’ve nae the stomach for what those two are willin’ tae do. _

Catriona stepped up beside Moira, holding the reins of five horses. “We’ll be leavin’ now. And if ye follow us, ye can expect us tae give as good as we get.” 

Jack wrapped his arm around Angus’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

Jamie stood staring after them, but Angus didn’t look back. Not once. 

“If ye leave, ye’ll give me yer word ye’ll not interfere with my plans again!” Jamie shouted after them.

“Ye’ll have nae more trouble from us.” War was coming, Moira knew that. She was no fool. But now, the most important thing was Angus’s safety. 

Angus was unable to properly ride, so they took him in turns on their horses, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. He fell asleep several times, each time jolting awake so violently he nearly fell from the horse. He sobbed and whimpered in his sleep, and each fresh sound tore at Moira’s heart. Rebecca and Catriona had frozen streaks of tears on their faces.

They rode through the night and into the morning. Moira and Jack had agreed it would be best to take Angus home to Castle Teine, only stopping along the way if it was a necessity. 

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that there was no way they would reach Castle Teine with Angus still alive. It was what Moira had feared when she saw Angus’s flushed face and trembling after the first night. The chill from the river and the horrors of the British camp had been too much, and Angus had a fever. 

Moira was uncertain where was safe to stop. They were still too close to the forts, and people might be so afraid of the British that they would turn them in to save themselves. She didn’t dare stop in a town, too many people, too much chance someone would rather protect themselves than five strangers.

As fortune would have it, by afternoon, just when Moira was beginning to think leaving behind the last town had been a mistake, she saw the unmistakable cairns marking Fergus Ramsay’s estate. The man was a staunch supporter of the Jacobites. Moira had met Fergus only a few times, but she had never felt that he was a dangerous person. 

She tried to ignore the muffled coughing she could hear behind her, where Catriona was supporting Angus against her shoulder, and pushed on. 

When they reached the house, Fergus seemed shocked to see anyone, but he dimly remembered Moira. Although she revealed none of the worse details, the moment Fergus saw Angus leaning against Jack, coughing and shivering, pity filled the man’s eyes. 

“The boy’s in nae condition tae travel in this weather. Stay as long as ye need.” He’d given them rooms and allowed Rebecca to visit his herbalist. The woman was currently busy taking care of several seriously ill children, but Rebecca was able to find what she would need to help Angus.

Moira had been given a room of her own, after a somewhat awkward explanation clearing up Fergus’s assumption that she and Jack were husband and wife. But she spent far more time in Angus’s room than in her own, as the boy grew steadily worse despite Rebecca’s best efforts. Moira could tell the girl was exhausting herself, and she and Catriona had each offered to help, only to be rebuffed. Rebecca was determined to do all she could to make sure Angus survived.  _ She’ll nae say it, but she’ll feel responsible for the guilt Jack will feel if he dies. _

Still, Moira stayed, watching as Angus’s fever rose, as he stopped recognizing them and began to talk to people who weren’t even in the room. He shook and coughed constantly, and the nightmares he woke screaming and sobbing from were shattering Moira’s heart.

She’d realized there was even more than Jack had told her when Rebecca, trying to keep him as clean and cool as she could, had removed his pants and found the ragged, ugly brand creasing his hip. The wound was red and oozing, obviously untended.  _ He would have hidden it from us all. He was ashamed. _ Moira wanted to cry, but that would do no one any good. 

Rebecca tried to wash the burn, but as soon as she touched it, Angus cried out in pain and forced her hand away with a surprisingly strong grip. Rebecca tried to remove her wrist from his shaking fingers. “Your leg wound’s worse, I need to clean it.” He whimpered and continued to shove her hands away. “You need to stop struggling, you’ll only make it worse.”

Moira stood up. “Let me help.” As Rebecca pulled away from Angus’s grasp for the fifth time, Moira gripped his wrists and held them tightly. Angus thrashed and cried out, struggling to free his hands, but he was too weak from the fever to outfight her. When he realized he wasn’t going to be able to break her grip, he began to sob. Moira could feel tears tracing down her own cheeks.  _ God forgive me for hurtin’ him more but it needs tae be done.  _ Rebecca cleaned the ugly, crusted burn as quickly as she could, and then Moira let go of Angus’s wrists. 

He shuddered, sobbing, curling in on himself. “ _ Stad _ .  _ Fàg mi leam fhìn. _ ”

“I’m sorry, Angus,” Rebecca whispered. “But we need to keep your fever from getting worse.” She sat down next to Moira, breathing shudderingly, flinching each time Angus whimpered or cried out. He kept shivering, crying, curling up, trying to hide himself from imagined eyes. Moira watched his restless fingers clutch for a blanket, anything to cover him, and find nothing, and each time it happened he grew more agitated.

Rebecca swallowed hard. “I’d have left him one if I didn’t think it might make him worse.”

“Ye did the right thing. Keepin’ him alive is what’s important now.” But Moira couldn’t deny that it hurt to watch him shiver and search for warmth and protection that wasn’t going to be given. Rebecca’s hands were clenched, white-knuckled, around the chair. 

“ _ Cuir stad air!” _ Angus thrashed violently, shoving away something or someone only he could see. “ _ Mas e do thoil e.” _ His words trailed into unintelligible sobs and moans.

“ _ Tha thu sàbhailte, _ Angus,” Moira whispered, but the words rang hollow.  _ With that monster in his head, how will he ever feel safe again? _


	18. Guilt+Healing

Jack was on his third glass of whiskey and cursing the way it took him forever to get drunk.  _ I need to get that day out of my head. _ But the more alcohol he had in his blood, the more uncontrollable the nightmarish memories were.  _ Murdoc’s eerie, horrifying taunts. Angus sobbing on the floor. The smell of charred flesh. Angus’s whimpers in that dark cave. _

He slammed the empty glass onto the table, and the poor maid Fergus had told to watch over him jumped. “I’m sorry,” Jack apologized. 

“No matter.” She picked up the glass gingerly and took it to refill it. Before she brought it back, the door creaked open and Moira entered, her face deeply lined with worry. She waved the maid away and sat down across the table from Jack.

“How is he?” 

“Worse,” Moira snapped bluntly. “Jack, he needs you.”

“No, he doesn’t. All I’ve ever brought him is pain.” Jack reached for her hand, and she held it tight. “I’m sorry, Moira. It’s because of me that he ran away, and it’s because of me that Murdoc...Moira, it was all on me.”

“Nae, Jack. Angus chose to do what he did, because he cares about ye. About all of us. Everything he’s done has been to protect us. We’re his family, and he doesnae want to lose us. This was nae yer fault.”

“I...I can’t.”  _ I can’t look at him and not remember that I failed him. _

“He’s askin’ fer ye.” Moira glanced at him. “Are ye willin’ tae let him think ye dinnae care?”

Jack sighed. Moira certainly knew how to make him feel even guiltier. Jack got up, sighing, and went to the door.

He almost walked away when he got to Angus’s room, but Rebecca chose that moment to step out, and Jack couldn’t just walk away from her. He nodded to her and walked in.

Angus looked vulnerable and defenseless, lying on the bed in nothing but his sweat-drenched shirt. Rebecca had said the burn mark would need to be open to heal cleanly, and Jack could clearly see the raw red lines of the M on Angus’s leg. 

_ I hope that monster is buried forever.  _ Some of Jamie’s people had remained behind and searched the camp, digging through the snow to find survivors of the avalanche. Jack hadn’t asked what they were going to do if they found anyone alive. He’d probably have done even worse himself. When they’d left, Murdoc’s body hadn’t yet been found. 

Jack sat down beside Angus, afraid to touch him.  _ What if he thinks I’m Murdoc? _ Angus was coughing, a thick, harsh sound that frightened Jack. He’d heard it before, the winter his younger brother caught a chill and weakened until he died.  _ Please don’t let this end that way. _

Angus tried to roll over and whimpered, clearly in pain. Jack reached gently for his shoulder. “Let me help you.” Angus flinched away from him and began to cry.

“Nae, nae.” He was clutching frantically at nothing, probably reaching for the blankets Rebecca had removed, trying to cover himself. Jack’s throat clenched at the pitifully weak movements. 

“It’s only me. It’s Jack.” Angus turned toward the familiar voice.

“J-jack?” he whispered weakly, then began to cough again. 

“Angus, I’m so sorry.” He ruffled the boy’s soaked hair gently; his skin felt like it was on fire. 

“N-nae y-yer fault,” Angus gasped out. Jack gently helped him sit up, hoping it might ease the terrible thick coughing. He’d thought the fever Angus had had after his whipping had been frightening, but now, now that he cared so much for the boy, this was a thousand times worse.  _ I can’t lose him. I can’t. _

“Yes it was. I should have…”

“Jack, please, dinnae do this to yerself.” Angus reached for Jack’s hand, clammy fingers twisting into his. “I couldnae let ye die.”

“Thank you.” It was all Jack could think of that was left to say. And then the boy began coughing again, deep, wracking sounds that tore at his chest and shook his whole body. It was clear every movement left him in worse pain. Jack rubbed a hand soothingly over his back, trying to help calm him. 

Angus curled against him, clinging to Jack so tightly Jack felt like he might never let go. 

“Please, dinnae leave me.”

“I won’t. I swear.” Jack felt tears streaming down his own cheeks.  _ What good is my word to him anymore? I swore I wouldn’t let Murdoc near him again, that that monster would never get to hurt him anymore, and I failed. _

Jack didn’t know how long they sat there. Angus calmed after a short time and seemed to be falling asleep. Jack wrapped his arms around him and leaned against the boy, ignoring the uncomfortable warmth from his body. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Suddenly, Angus’s breathing became more ragged, raspy, and harsh. Jack was afraid it was another coughing fit coming on, but instead the boy began to cry, shoving Jack away and curling up.

“Angus, it’s all right. I’m here, it’s just me, Jack.” He pulled away, not wanting to make Angus move more than necessary and hurt himself more.

“Jack, help me, please!” Angus thrashed away from invisible hands, invisible eyes. “ _ Cuidich mi leam! _ ” His voice trailed off into a soft muttering Jack couldn’t make out, punctuated by desperate, gasped sobs.

Jack swallowed hard and began to whisper softly in terrible Gaelic, stumbling over the sounds of the foreign words on his tongue. “ _ Tha mi an seo a-nis _ .”  _ I’m here now. _ If Angus was so far lost in his own head, he might understand the Gaelic better than English. 

Angus’s stuttering breaths evened out, and his shaking began to subside, just a bit.

_ “Tha mi duilich.” I’m sorry.  _ Angus sniffled, then began to twist his hand back into Jack’s. Jack leaned back against the wall.  _ Please, let him be okay. _

Angus glanced up at Jack briefly, and through the shimmering cloudiness of the fever, Jack could see a glimmer of understanding.

_“Cha b 'e sin do chion. Stad a chuir air do shon,”_ Angus whispered. Jack didn’t know what it meant, but the tone was gently scolding. An “I’ve told you this before, you should listen” kind of voice. _He’s likely telling me to let this go. To stop taking responsibility for what happened._ Jack nodded slowly. 

_ “Nì mi sin.” I will. _ Angus nodded, as if what Jack said had calmed him. He seemed to relax slightly, and he rested his head on Jack’s shoulder, shaking softly and coughing with each breath. Jack carded his fingers through the sweaty hair and began singing, a broken version of the Gaelic lullaby Rebecca had been learning and had been singing ceaselessly under her breath.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he woke to morning light coming through the window and soft, shuddering breaths near his ear. He rubbed his hands up and down Angus’s back and noticed that although the boy’s shirt was sweaty, the unnatural heat was less terrible. 

He sat up slowly, coughing. His face was pale, fever-blotched and sweaty, but his eyes were clear. 

“Jack, yer Gaelic is  _ uabhasach, _ ” Angus said quietly, smiling.

“It’s not fair to criticize me in a language I don’t understand, then,” Jack muttered teasingly. 

There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Jack called, and Rebecca stepped inside, glancing quickly at the two of them. 

“Good morning,” Angus said softly. “I’m sorry I scared ye.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack could hear the relief in Rebecca’s tone. “It’s good to see you awake.” She was carrying a handful of clean sheets, and behind her Catriona held a bowl of broth, and a plate of food. 

“I thought ye two might be hungry.” 

Angus reached for the bread on the plate, but Catriona gently pulled it away. “Nae, ye’ve nae been able to keep anything down for the past few days. Ye’re nae eating that until I’m certain I willnae need tae clean up a mess.” Angus blushed and Jack chuckled.  _ Just like the last time. _

He and Angus ate while Rebecca pulled the sweat-stained, crumpled sheets from the bed and replaced them. Angus watched her work, and as she gathered up the armful of soiled linen, whispered, “I’m sorry to have made ye so much work.”

“For the last time, it was not your fault,” Rebecca scolded gently. “And don’t you even think about offering to help me. You’re not leaving that bed until you’re not coughing anymore and can stand without help. I’ll not have you repeat what you did the last time you were sick.” Her smile faltered as Angus glanced away.

_ Now he associates the thought of being naked with Murdoc and everything that happened.  _ He noticed Angus self-consciously tug at the hem of Jack’s old shirt, pulling it as far over his legs as he could manage. And then the realization must have hit that someone had taken the rest of his clothes while he was sick, that he’d been all but naked and terribly vulnerable, because Jack saw panic building in his eyes. Angus glanced from Rebecca to Catriona to Jack with a half-frightened, half-shamed look. 

Angus began to shake, curling into himself like he had when he was sicker. He flinched away from any contact with Jack, and his eyes looked blank and shadowed. He began to shiver and whimper, tears streaming down his cheeks, whispering in Gaelic. _ He’s lost in his head again. _ Jack knew better than to try to touch him.

“I promise, Angus, none of us would ever look at you that way. None of us would treat you like he did.” Realization dawned in Rebecca’s eyes and she set down her load of sheets and sat on the bed. 

“I’m sorry I had to take your clothes, Angus. I had to clean your leg and if I hadn’t you would likely have gotten worse. Maybe died.” He didn’t respond, still shaking and not meeting their eyes.

“Please don’t touch me. Go away,” he whimpered softly. “Leave me alone.” He wrapped the sheets tightly around him, huddling so he was as protected and covered as possible. Jack rubbed quickly at his eyes.  _ No point in crying, it won’t do any good. _ But it hurt that Angus now felt ashamed to be near his own family. 

“Angus?” Catriona joined them on the bed. She glanced at Rebecca and Jack. “May I speak tae him alone?” Jack nodded.  _ She’s known him longest. Maybe she’ll be able to make him see we meant no harm. _

He and Rebecca waited in the hallway. Moira came up to them, but when she put her hand on the door Jack stopped her. His whispered explanation for the reason they’d left brought tears to the woman’s eyes. She nodded and then walked away, shoulders slumped.

Rebecca was crying softly. “This is my fault. I should have known he’d hate anyone seeing him like that again. But he was so sick. I wouldn’t have taken his clothes if there was any other way,” Rebecca whispered. 

“I know.” Jack reached for her and she leaned against him. “You did what you had to do. He’s likely only alive because of your care.”

“But Jack, is he going to be all right?” She looked up at him sadly.

He couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know, Rebecca, I don’t know.” Jack had always been afraid it would be Rebecca he had to fear for. He’d laid awake at night, afraid one day she’d come back to the house with a torn dress and tear-streaked face, crying into his shoulder with a story of some drunken soldier. He’d tried so hard to protect her. And in the end, she’d been faced with that horror in a way neither of them expected.

Eventually Catriona walked out. “He’s calmer.” Her own face was tear-stained, and there were shadows in her eyes like Angus’s. Jack tried not to dwell on why that would be.  _ She likely had a very good reason to want to be alone. But maybe what she said helped. _

Rebecca shook her head when Jack motioned for her to follow. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Angus was still huddled on the bed, but he wasn’t shaking, and his eyes were clear again. 

“I’m sorry fer that,” he said quietly. “Where’s Rebecca? I want to tell her she was right, it wasnae her fault.”

“She’ll be back shortly.” 

There was a tap on the door, and Jack was about to say it must have been Rebecca there, when he heard Moira’s voice. Moira glanced inside. “If ye’re feelin’ up tae it, there’s warm water for ye to wash, and some clean clothes for ye, Angus.” He nodded gratefully.

Rebecca carried in two pails of steaming water, and Catriona followed with a bucket that was cooler and an armful of clothing. Jack stood up to leave, and the two girls began to walk toward the door as well. Catriona turned back once and glanced at Angus, with a meaning in her look Jack didn’t quite catch, and then Jack heard him speak up softly. 

“I...I dinnae ken if I’ll be able tae stand. I...could use yer help. Please.” His hands were shaking, it must have been a terrible effort to say.  _ She must have told him he needed to stop shutting people out. That asking for help was the only way he’d be able to heal.  And that if we’d planned to hurt him we’d have done so already. _

“Of course,” Rebecca said softly.

Jack helped hold Angus upright while Rebecca cleaned and dressed the burn and any other wounds, and Catriona helped Angus wash away the sweat and grime that were sticking to him. He still flinched at their touch and his face was permanently scarlet with shame at being naked in front of them, but when Jack helped him into the clean clothes, he turned to them all with a soft half-smile. 

“Thank ye.” He laid back, exhausted by just the effort of half-holding himself upright, and coughed weakly. “I’d like tae go home.” Angus glanced at Jack.

“Not until ye can stand without coughin’, ye’ll nae,” Moira snapped. Jack hadn’t even heard her enter the room, and he flinched.  _ Good heavens, that woman will never fail to frighten me. _ But there was no anger in her words. Jack smiled.   _ This isn’t the end of it, not even close. But it’s the start. _


	19. Pin+Key

Angus had been hoping that going back to Castle Teine would put everything that happened in the past. It had taken the better part of three weeks to convince Moira, Rebecca, and Catriona he was able to travel. He’d considered asking Jack to help him slip out of the Ramsay estate.

The place held too many memories of the fever and the weakness that had come with it. And more than the physical inability to stand or walk without help. Angus wanted to forget the fear and shame and pain of those first few days.  _ I was a fool. It’s nae worse than Catriona’s endured, and she was stronger than me.  _ Until she’d told him what had happened, he’d never known or even suspected. _ She doesnae flinch away from everyone. She doesnae wake screaming and crying. What’s wrong with me? _ Once the last of the fever had gone, he’d realized exactly how weak and frightened and broken he must have looked. 

He wanted to forget that any of those first days had happened. _I can put it behind me._ He knew it had been the same after Davis’s death, but that was different. _That was my doin’. I killed a man, I had a right tae be ashamed of myself. To feel guilty._ _All Murdoc did was hurt me. It’s nae worse than the flogging._ He tried not to let himself remember that he’d had nightmares about that as well.

He’d been glad to leave the Ramsay estate behind. Fergus had been nothing but kind, but very likely he and all his staff had overheard or noticed enough to know what had happened to him.  _ I want to go home where no one else knows. Where they willnae look at me differently. _ He wanted things to go back to the way they had been. _ I’ll heal. There’s nothin’ different. Nothin’.  _

But then they were there,  _ home, home is safe, nothin’ can happen here _ , and nothing changed.

Angus couldn’t stay in the house. Not with the way they were all looking at him.  _ They don’t need to treat me like glass.  _ Moira wouldn’t stop looking at him with tears in her eyes, Jack seemed afraid to touch him, and Rebecca and Catriona were trying too hard to treat him carefully, to avoid making loud noises or slamming doors. Even Conall knew. Moira had told him, and Angus wished she hadn’t, because the old man kept putting his hand on Angus’s and giving him sympathetic looks.

_ I want to forget it ever happened, and none of them will let me. _

Will was the only one who didn’t seem to treat him any differently at all. Angus knew Rebecca had told the farrier what had happened, but whenever Angus saw Will, he only ever asked for Angus’s advice on something he was working on. He never asked if Angus was well, or questioned him about the lingering cough and the slight limp Angus always tried desperately to hide. 

Rebecca had said the limp was likely permanent. Part of the brand Murdoc had made had burned so deeply it had damaged muscle along with skin, and Rebecca thought it might never heal completely. It hurt more to think that there was no way to cut away the mark completely than that he might have that limp forever. He wanted Murdoc’s mark gone. Every time he saw it, he had to remember, which was surely what that monster had intended. Not that Angus let himself look at his own body much anymore.

After a particularly bad day, when he’d woken sobbing and Jack,  _ it was only Jack, ye shouldnae have hit him, _ tried to help, Angus had brushed the others’ concern off and left the house. He found himself walking toward the smithy.

The smell of hot iron almost drove him back to the house, _ pain and burning and those soulless, possessive eyes _ , but he took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

Will was repairing a door hinge. “Good morning, Angus,” he said, not looking up from his work. “If you came to help me with this I’d be more than grateful. This unnatural cold is snapping hinges all over the estate.”

“It’s nae unnatural, nae here. Ye came from the southern border.” Angus glanced at the pile of hinges, all of them warped or damaged in some way, resting on the table. “This happens every year. How many have ye replaced yet?”

“This will be my first.”

“Good, then it’s nae too late tae tell ye that every time one of the old latches breaks, I melt it and make an entirely new one.”

“Why?” Will asked. “Most of it is relatively minor.”

“I cannae understand why, but there’s a way to make the metal stronger. I found it by accident experimenting with the bellows.” Angus pulled a second pair of them from the ceiling. “We need the fire tae be hot enough tae make the metal liquid, and then use the second set of bellows tae blow air on it. It leaves a thick crust on top, but the metal underneath doesnae break as easily. I’ve been replacin’ the older door hinges like this fer years. When I left I suppose they stopped doin’ it..”

“I’ve heard tell of something like this. Some fellow named Huntsman’s been working on a way to make stronger metals.”

“It works well.” Angus helped Will set up the second bellows and found the rest of the tools he’d used when he’d been doing the same work. He and Will each manned a bellows, and despite the oppressive heat, it felt good to be working hard and not be asked any questions. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong.

_ All ye’re doin’ is coverin’ the cracks. Makin’ do. _ Just like the way Will was about to fix that hinge.  _ It looks fine, but ye’ll shatter again and worse, later, when somethin’ happens tae remind ye. Ye need tae get the hurt and whatever else is makin’ ye fragile out of ye. Nae matter how much it hurts. _ He looked away from the white-blue glow in the forge and wiped away a layer of sooty sweat.  _ Because in the end ye’ll be the stronger fer it. _

Still, it was hard to broach the topic. Angus waited until the metal was cooling in a long mold, when he’d chip away the thick crust of impurities and he and Will would start making new hinges.

“Why do ye nae ask me...about what happened?” He finally said, forcing the words past the growing catch in his throat.

“Rebecca didn’t want to be pitied, when she came to the fort. I knew she’d been a slave, and I heard the wash women gossip that she was horribly scarred.” Will sat down on one of the small stools near his workbench. “I made up my mind then that I’d make no mention of any of her past unless she did.” He caught Angus’s eyes. “I think you and she are the same sort of person.”

“What did she do?”

“She told me about it when we were caring for a horse whose rider had whipped him quite viciously. She pushed me away and told me she understood whip wounds better than I ever could. It sounded bitter to me then, and maybe it was. But the more she told me about her past, the more I realized she wanted to say it, have done, and move on. She wanted me to know the truth and love her anyway. And once she’d said what she came to, we never talked about it again.”

“That’s all I’m wantin’ the others tae do. And they willnae let it go.” Angus picked up a thin wire that had been tossed on the floor and began to twist it.

Will sighed. “The difference between you two is that you’re trying to pretend it never happened. Rebecca only wanted to leave what happened in her past. You want everyone to forget. Rebecca wanted them to know.”

It was exactly what Angus had been telling himself, but hearing it from someone else’s mouth suddenly made him sound like a coward. He could feel himself becoming defensive. “If no one knew…if none of ye had ever found out, it wouldnae matter. So why does it matter to ye now?”  _ As if I could have hidden this from them. I’m too ruined to pretend. How did Catriona do this? _

“Because you know what happened. And as long as you know, you can’t pretend none of it was real.” Will began to stand. “I won’t ask you to tell me before you’re ready to. But you’ll have to acknowledge the truth someday.”

_ If I don’t say it now I never will. And I have to.  _ “Sometimes...sometimes I dream o’ what happened.” He could feel the pain and fear and humiliation surging at the edges of his control, like floodwater about to destroy a dam. 

Will siad nothing, but Angus watched the farrier’s hands clench in each other, fingers stiff.

“Sometimes...I hand him my clothes myself. Sometimes he tears them off me. Sometimes they’re just gone. But I’m always naked. It’s always cold. And...and Murdoc only laughs.” He shivered, because even though the forge was almost uncomfortably warm, his mind was back in that drafty tent. 

He looked down at his hands. “No matter how many times I wash, I can’t get his scent off me. I still feel...him.” He shuddered at the memory of Murdoc’s words.  _ “I thought you might need something better than a whipping to remember whose you are.” _ “He called me his. He owned me and he proved it.” His fingers strayed to the still-sore brand. 

Will reached for Angus’s hand, pulling it away from his leg and wrapping it gently in his own. “Then he lied to you. Because no man owns any of us. Ask Rebecca. Maybe he thought he owned your body, maybe he left his own marks. But whether it’s brands or chains, the people who try to own us can only touch our bodies. He can’t own your spirit. Unless you let him.”

Angus nodded slowly. “Ye’re sayin’ that be hidin, by sayin’ nothin’ happened, I’m lettin’ him.”

“You are. You’re letting what he did ruin the rest of your life. You’re letting it tear you away from the people who love you. If you hate that he tried to own you, throw it in his face by making it a lie.” Will said softly. “Don’t let him and what he did control your life. Or it will be true.”

“It’s nae just what he did tae me. Sometimes I dream he kills Jack in front of me anyway.” Angus looked down at his hands. “That it wasn’t enough for him, to take away everything else. He had to take Jack too. And I couldnae stop him.”

“But Jack is here. Alive, thanks to you. You could have given up. No one would have blamed you. And you still fought to save him. You’re strong, no matter what you try to tell yourself”

Angus leaned against Will’s strong grasp. “Murdoc’s dead, and gone, and I want it to be over. But I cannae forget. I cannae stop thinkin’ about him.”

“You will. In time.” Angus already knew Will would tell him to talk to the others like this.  _ Ye told Jack it was nae his fault. Maybe it’s time tae accept it was nae yers either. _

He didn’t realize how long they’d been there until the door opened. Rebecca was holding a basket of lunch, and she was already singing out an unusually cheerful greeting to Will before she saw Angus.  She seemed surprised he was there.

“I’m sorry, I thought Will would be here alone. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Angus could see that concern coming back. That need to protect something fragile. 

“Ye didnae. It’s good tae see ye.” He reached for her, although it was an effort, and put an arm around her. Rebecca smiled, and some of the worry began to melt away again.

Rebecca seemed to be glowing. It was odd, given that she’d been violently ill the past few days. Angus had felt guilty; she’d tended him when he’d been sick and it was possible she’d become ill with the same thing.

“I’ve something to tell Will.”

“I’ll leave then.” Angus stood up. He didn’t want to intrude on the two, and he needed to talk to Jack and apologize for storming out earlier.

“No, I’d like you to hear it too, since you’re here.” Rebecca took a deep breath and put a hand settlingly on her stomach. It was an odd gesture, Angus had never seen her do that before. “I’m fairly certain that come autumn, I’ll be having a child.”

Will sat down, gasping and clutching for any support in reach. Angus moved the hot metal well away from the man’s searching grasp. “I’m...a father?”

“Congratulations!” Angus gave Will’s shaking hand a hearty grasp. “I’ve known few men who could be a better one.”  _ He’s proved that already today. _ “I’ll leave ye two tae talk. I’ve places tae be.” When he walked out, Rebecca was pulling Will into a tight embrace. 

The first person who met him at the door was Moira. “Moira, I need tae talk tae Jack.”

“Of course. He’s in the study.” Moira caught Angus’s sleeve before he walked past. “I need tae speak with ye first, it’s important.”

Moira handed Angus a pin, the familiar phoenix brooch. “This was left on the doorstep this morning.” It wasn’t Angus’s, the pin wasn’t bent sideways from the many times he’d used it to pick open locks, and there was a long scratch across one of the phoenix’s wings.  _ Jamie’s. Whatever he planned on doin’ at Fort Stanton, he finished. And survived. _ Angus wondered if the reason the man had left the pin here was because he thought somehow Angus might care about his fate.  _ I dinnae care about anythin’ tae do with that man.  _ Whatever his business had been at Fort Stanton, no matter how important to the British or the Jacobites or even to the MacGyver family it had been, Angus no longer cared. There had been too much sacrificed. And Jamie had been willing to sacrifice so much more.

“He’s given up the last of his ties to the family.” Angus took the pin and turned it over, then attached it to his plaid. 

“Aye. Jamie’s nae longer part of the clan.” There was noticeable relief in Moira’s voice. “Which is what Jack and Conall are waitin’ on ye in the study for.” She must have noticed his look of confusion. “It’s nae fer me tae tell ye. It’s fer Conall.”

Angus walked in to see his grandfather in a chair, Jack standing behind him. They’d been talking, and Jack straightened up when he heard the door open.

“Moira gave you the brooch.” Jack said, seeing it on Angus’s shoulder. 

“Aye. And she said ye had somethin’ tae tell me?

Conall sighed. “I’m an old man, Angus. I’m not long for the world now, ye know that.”

“Are ye ill?”  _ He didnae seem it. Or have I been too bound up in my own anger and grief tae see? _

“I have been fer months. It’s age, nae more. But I ken I’ve nae much time left. Castle Teine is yours now.” Conall removed the heavy brass key from around his neck. “I couldnae hand it over tae ye while Jamie still had any claim, but after today, he’s given it up.”

“I’m nae ready.” Angus had known this would happen, eventually. Jamie had never wanted the responsibility of being Laird, it was why he’d left Castle Teine when he married. But Angus had hoped there would be more time for him to prepare.

“Ye’ll be a good laird, Angus. Ye have a good heart, and ye have good people tae advise ye.” Conall glanced from Jack to Moira, who had come in behind Angus. “Trust yerself, and trust them. Ye’re a good man, and ye truly care about the people here.” 

“Well, I think you’re a worthy person to carry on the family name,” Jack said softly. “If that means anything to you.” 

_ It means the world tae me. _ “I dinnae ken if I can keep them safe from what’s comin’. The colonel may be gone, but things are getting worse. Robbie and his men will keep pushing the British closer and closer tae war. And I...I cannae go back tae that life.”

“Let them fight their wars. We have each other and that’s what matters now,” Moira said, holding him gently. 

_ Whatever comes, we’ll face it. Like we always have. Together. _


	20. Future+Hope

**One and a half years later…**

 

Rebecca shook out one of the clean diapers and draped it over the laundry line, joining the row of others blowing in the late spring breeze. She glanced back toward the steps of Castle Teine, where Angus was trying to keep her adventurous, squirming, six-month-old son out of trouble.

Young Angus was already almost as mischievous as his namesake. Rebecca loved the boy, and so did the household staff, but trying to keep him away from anything that could break, fall, or injure him was a job that required attention every minute.

Rebecca counted herself fortunate that she had such a wonderful family to help her. Will was the most caring, adoring father Rebecca had ever seen, and she was glad her child would grow up not having to know what it was to feel abandoned and rejected. 

Moira and Jack adored the baby, and more than once Rebecca had seen both of them, when they thought no one was watching, singing the boy to sleep, whispering to him things that made no sense in the softest voices Rebecca had ever heard them use, and smiling more widely than Rebecca had thought they could.  _ Neither of them wants to admit they have such large hearts. But no child could ask for better people in their life.  _ She was waiting for the day Jack taught her son to ride a horse, or the day he ran through the hall with a wooden sword Moira was sure to give him.  _ They have no children of their own, and they adore him. _ Moira and Jack might fight, but they were more alike than either would ever admit. 

Conall had treated the baby like his own grandchild. Shortly after the baby, who’d promptly been christened “wee Angus” by Moira to distinguish him from his namesake, had been born, Conall had taken a turn for the worse. But until the very day he died, the old man had held the boy every morning and sung to him, and told him stories of the family and their past. Rebecca had understood enough of the Gaelic to follow most of what happened. It seemed the MacGyvers had always been a clan that lived on the edge of disaster and loss, but that always found a way to survive and even to flourish in the midst of unimaginable hardship.  _ We belong here. I belong here. _ It had made Rebecca feel less like an outsider.  _ This is a place for survivors. _

Angus himself was living proof of the resilience of the family. He’d been shattered when Conall had died, but he’d helped bury the man himself, digging the grave in the same place his grandmother and two uncles were laid to rest. Rebecca had seen him struggle through his own grief while taking on the responsibilities of laird. Moira had been beside him every step of the way with advice and support, and Jack too had given advice on ways to help secure the land and its people against the inevitable coming war.

Rebecca still feared for the future some days. But watching Angus trying to keep her son from setting himself on fire with the flames heating the laundry kettle, she couldn’t help but smile.  _ Nothing is certain. Nothing is granted. Only this moment, right now, where we are happy. _

“Come now, ye dinnae want tae play with that.” Angus was trying to pry the small child’s hands free of a stick whose end was smoldering. “Let’s find ye something less dangerous, shall we?” He pulled a collection of hinged sticks out of one pocket and the small boy began to laugh and babble excitedly.

Wee Angus had not been able to master the sounds of his own name, it seemed. But hearing all the tenants and most of the staff calling Angus “Laird MacGyver” now, seemed to have inspired a nickname. 

The small boy reached for the carved stick contraption Angus handed him. “Mac! Mac!” He chuckled. The joyful smile that spread across both their faces warmed Rebecca’s heart. There had been times, over the past year, when she’d been certain Mac...even she’d begun to call him that,  _ and it’s fitting, because he’s a different person now than the Angus we knew _ ... would never smile that way again. That he’d never regain the hope and joy he’d once had.

In some ways, she’d been right. Mac was quieter, a little less open and exuberant. There were shadows he would never be able to fully shake that still woke him in the night, screaming and crying. It happened less and less, and perhaps with time the nightmares would cease altogether, but for now, Rebecca contented herself with the fact that when he woke, some member of his family would be there to comfort him. 

She knew Mac had feared that the estate’s tenants would reject him as a laird if they knew how broken he was. He’d confessed as much to her, one night when the dreams had been worse than usual.  _ He thought they’d see him as weak, as if he couldn’t protect them if he wasn’t even strong enough to protect himself. _ But she had been the first to assure him that that was far from the truth. And when he’d finally gotten the courage to admit the truth to all of them, every single one had shown him nothing but respect and kindness. Rebecca would never forget seeing one of the old women, whose face was terribly scarred from a past clan war that had cost her her whole family, pulling Mac close in a strong grasp, both of them weeping into each other’s shoulders.

She knew he struggled every single day. The memories and scars of the past, the ominous future, the responsibilities of laird, all of it had taken some of the joy from his eyes and some of the youth from his smile. She ached for the mischievous, spirited, carefree, slightly danger-courting boy she’d met what felt like a lifetime ago.  _ But this is who we are now. I’m not the girl I was. None of us are the same. _

Will was becoming a widely acclaimed smith; his work refining and improving iron was much sought after. He left the castle sometimes for days at a time, but always came home smiling and overjoyed to be back with his family. 

Moira and Jack both had more grey hairs than before, some from the struggles they’d endured, and some likely from wee Angus’s antics. Rebecca thought she might find some of her own before long.  _ That child will be the death of me.  _

Mac lifted the boy into his arms and walked over to her. “He’s growin’ mighty fast,” he said, adjusting the child so he was carrying less weight on his lame leg. “Before ye ken it, he’ll be runnin’ all about and causin’ as much trouble as I used tae.”

“I’m counting on you to think of those things before he can do them,” Rebecca said scoldingly, hanging up the last of the wash and taking the boy into her own arms. He mumbled happily and began to tug at her curls. “How are you?”

“Tired. Rab and Billy have been arguin’ about the boundaries of the pastures again, and the well windlass gave out.” He began picking at a splinter in his palm. “I kenned it would happen soon, but that last storm was tae much.” Mac was still, above anything else, someone who fixed things. Everything else, even meeting with other lairds, would be put aside to help a passing traveler with a broken cart axle, or even just to coax a stubborn fireplace into lighting.  _ He’ll never truly change, not much. _ And that made Rebecca happy.  _ Maybe we don’t ride together stopping trouble anymore, but he makes this place better, and he loves these people. Maybe this is what he was meant to do all along.  _ It was a smaller life, but it seemed to be a truly happier one. 

Hoofbeats clattered on stone, and Will cantered into the yard, swinging off his horse. “I swear, Rebecca, he grows faster when I’m gone.” He lifted her, baby and all, into a massive hug. “Let me see the little fellow for a moment.”

Little Angus grabbed one of his father’s rough, soot-stained fingers. “Da,” he babbled happily, reaching with his other hand to pat his father’s stubbly cheek. 

“Yes, it’s me. Home to play with you,” Will said, and gently poked the boy’s stomach with one finger, making him laugh and burble happily.

The door opened behind them and Moira and Jack stepped out. Rebecca had seen them spending more and more time together. They weren’t fond of each other in the way of two people in love, but they were the best friends Rebecca had ever seen. They pretended to fight, but she could see the kindness behind their eyes. 

“It’s high time ye returned, Miss Gellis has cracked the soup cauldron for the third time,” Moira scolded playfully. “And there are wagon wheels tae be mended and horses tae be shod.”

“Let him at least get some food before you start putting him to work, Moira,” Jack laughed. “It’s a long ride from the MacFie estate.”

Jack lifted the little boy from Will and swung him around, and he screeched happily, arms spread wide like a bird catching the wind. Mac laughed, and Rebecca looked around her at the joy and light and smiles. 

There would be dark days ahead. Rebecca could feel it in the air, in the rumors coming from travelers from the south. The Stewarts were gaining support, and the country was coming closer and closer to taking up arms.

_ If they come here, I don’t know what Mac will tell them. _ Rebecca knew if given the choice, Mac would stay as far away as he could from the fight that had already cost him so much.  _ But if the future, if everything we know and love here, is at stake, he won’t hesitate. _ Rebecca knew any and all of them would be willing to defend this place, these people, the future of their families and children, with their lives. 

She truly hoped they wouldn’t need to. But something told her she was hoping for that in vain. Just as surely, though, she knew they could survive whatever storms might come. 

_ We can endure anything with our family beside us. _


End file.
